Holding On and Letting Go
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: Follow the epic romance of Cristina and Owen from the earliest days to the inevitable downfall of their marriage; the dark memories between them and the warmth of friendship and companionship; follow them into the unpredictable future as they tackle parenthood; experience the rise, climax, fall, and rekindling of a truly great love.
1. Knight

**Author's Notes****: This story begins in the past and moves into the future, focusing on Cristina and Owen's relationship from the moment they first met to their reconciliation after the tragic downfall of their marriage. I have been a fan of this show for a while now and this is one of the most heartbreaking and beautiful love stories I've ever seen. Some people may reject the idea of Cristina coming around to having a child, but I think we've seen her grow exponentially throughout the show. Her empathy, compassion, and maturity are evolving whether she likes it or not. Life does that to people. It takes more than twenty-something years to grow up. Owen once told her that one day she would realize that she wants different things, and he was right. Now it's time for Cristina to have an evil spawn to call her own.**

**I would also like to note that this story expands several years into the future, including almost every (living) character from the Grey's Anatomy universe and wrapping them up in an epic burrito of love, lust, friendship, and medicine.**

**XxX**

**Season 5, Episode 2: Dream a Little Dream of Me, Part II**

_**September of 2008.**_

Cristina was tucked away in one of the corner exam rooms, where trauma patients got dumped after their initial exam. It had been a little over an hour after she'd been impaled by an icicle – it was still protruding from her chest, wiggling around and pinching her nerves when she breathed – and she was running short on patience. She wanted to pull it out herself, but she knew the dangers of stab wounds and she couldn't handle the suturing on her own. She was left waiting for her interns, three idiots she didn't trust to clean out bedpans, and it was all she could do to keep herself from slapping one of them. She tapped her finger – and the vitals monitor that surrounded it – on her blanket and pressed her other hand to her forehead, wondering if the heat she felt was from a growing fever, or cartoon-style infuriation.

"What do you see?" She was impatient. Her voice startled the fawns hanging behind her left shoulder. She heard them whisper something amongst themselves.

One of them, the mousy girl with the nose, responded with a trembling voice. "Uh, it kind of looks like it's hitting nothing?"

"Oh?" she responded sarcastically, "It looks like its hitting nothing? Because it's hitting nothing!" She turned to glare at them, glad to see them shrink in their scrubs, but the movement caused pain to echo out over her torso. She twisted back, taking steady, gentle breaths until the pain eased off. Her eyes fell on the icicle again and she sighed.

"So, like, what does that – what does that mean?" This time is was the floppy haired man-boy speaking. His voice was grating, like utensils sliding on glass.

"What do you mean, what does that mean? Don't you know how to read an X-ray?"

"You-You always read them."

He was right about that. She'd taught herself in the early days of high school and she'd expected them to _know_. She wasn't in the mood to talk them through it, so she snapped at them. "Well, get out. All of you just… get out. And find me someone with a brain!"

She laid her head down again, frowning when the effort of yelling sent another jolt of pain through her chest. She stared through the window, which she would've happily broken with her face if she could be on the other side of it. There were residents out there fighting for surgeries, and she should've been standing on a pile of their corpses; instead she was benched, and damaged.

"Those your interns?"

Her eyes snapped up at the sound of the soldier's voice. Major Owen Hunt – a trauma surgeon with an abnormally high pain threshold, and authority issues. Just hours ago he'd triaged crash victims and then proceeded to staple his own laceration shut without local anesthetic. He was either insane, or incredibly hot; she was having trouble making the distinction. Either way she didn't want to see him right now. She almost wished he hadn't found her outside. Perhaps she would've bled out and she wouldn't have to face butchering one of her patients.

He started pulling on gloves, commenting, "They seem pretty scared of you."

"I am not scary," she declared.

His eyebrows bounced and he nodded slightly, glancing past her. He planted one hand on the other side of the bed and started leaning in, coming inappropriately close to her. She stared at him, unsure. "Uh, what are you doing?"

He didn't respond, and for a moment she was torn. It seemed like the perfect time to test out the hospital's security protocol, but this man, this soldier, no matter how strangely he was acting, was captivating to her. He was handsome, and his eyes were beautiful, and she knew for a fact that he was intelligent – they didn't let just anyone become a surgeon. It almost seemed like he was going to kiss her, and she wasn't going to stop him.

And then he pulled the icicle out.

She gasped, her hand flying to his shoulder, the pain overwhelming her for a split second. She yelped like a little dog that had been stepped on. Her vision blurred, but a moment later her eyes refocused on the dagger in his hand. It was longer than she'd expected, and wickedly sharp, its point covered in watery, pinkish blood.

"That's my icicle," she stated, mystified.

He nodded. He was working on the wound site with his free hand, but he had barely moved. He still hovered over her, and his eyes kept flickering back to hers.

"Uh, you took out my icicle."

It was like he wasn't listening, just acknowledging that she had spoken. "Yeah." He made a circle with pressure on the wound, trapping the blood that tried to run down her ribcage.

"I didn't give you permission to do that."

He shrugged. "So?"

She took a few pained breaths, watching the gauze in his hand turn red. She was staring at him, mystified, when the door opened, and she didn't even look up until her friend spoke.

"Cristina…"

"He died." It was always worse to say it aloud. She almost wished she had accepted that sad, sad look as confirmation of her failure, but she had to say it. It rolled off her tongue and stuck in the air. She had killed her patient. She had really killed someone because of incompetence. She was not the surgeon she thought she was, and her arrogance, her confidence, had killed someone. She was going to be fired. She had a hole in her chest and she was going to be fired. Someone was dead because of her. She was a holey, jobless murderer.

It all set in at the same time and her breath caught.

Meredith crossed her arms, frowning. "I'm sure the chief's not gonna fire you over this. It was one mistake. One mistake. Everybody-"

"Don't do that," Cristina cut her off, looking away when tears formed in the pits of her eyes. She blinked them out, forcing her breath to even out. "Just… just go. I'm fine."

"I can-"

"I'm okay," Cristina looked up, meeting her eyes. She put on her brave face. "Look, really, I'm fine. I'm a grown-up. I can handle this."

"Okay. Okay. I have to go tell the chief, so…" she uncrossed her arms, bouncing on her heels, and then she left the room. Cristina didn't look at the window, but she could see Meredith walking in her peripheral vision, looking grim, but determined.

Her soldier stirred, having sat back to let them talk. He deposited the icicle in the medical waste bin and put on a new pair of gloves, standing by her side and looking down at her, thoughtful. She stared back at him. He nodded, as if concluding a thought, and said, "Here, I'll sew you up. Just move your arm and maybe slide up a little, if you can."

She shrugged and dug her foot into the bottom of the table, moving herself up a fraction. She threw her right arm behind her head, squinting when he turned on a lamp and wheeled it over her. "Cut off the overhead," she said. "It's giving me a headache."

"Can't have that," he responded, stepping back and flicking the light off. He smiled at her, but she looked away, shutting her eyes and trying to make her head stop throbbing. "I'm gonna numb you," the soldier said. She felt a few little pricks along her ribs, but they didn't bother her. He was gentle – she barely felt it when he prodded the area around the wound, and even the pressure was insignificant once the numbing agent had kicked in. She had to look up to make sure he was doing anything at all, and once she did she was glad, because he was easy to look at.

She distracted herself with him. He was like an artist, using his bulky, rough, calloused hands, hands so big they could comfortably palm a basketball, to grasp thin, almost invisible sutures. He worked as delicately and as quickly as she would have, and he never paused to think about what he was doing. His gorgeous eyes darted from the wound to her face, narrowed with concentration. She wondered how the wild soldier who'd stepped out of the ambulance earlier had become this skilled surgeon.

"Major Hunt?" she said quietly.

"Owen," he corrected, not looking up.

She hummed deep in her throat. His name fit him well. "You're good at that. Suturing."

"Lot of sutures come my way," he responded softly. His eyes stayed on hers for an extra second this time, and he smiled slightly. "I bet you wish you could do this yourself."

"I know how to suture."

"I mean, you wish you could fix yourself, like I did with the staples."

"What makes you say that?"

"You look like a caged animal right now. You just seem like the type of person who would rather get things done for yourself, instead of relying on other people."

She shrugged, admiring how good he was at multitasking. Some of the doctors at Seattle Grace would've sewed their finger to the patient if they kept looking up like he did. But his sutures were perfect, and he barely touched her.

"Tell me about trauma surgery."

He cocked an eyebrow, smiling. "Trauma? Quick and dirty. There's no time to make things pretty and no time for mistakes." He swung around, retrieved a needle, and then turned back to her. "Drop your pants, you need a shot of Cefazolin I.M."

She pulled down her scrubs, shifting slightly to give him access. "No time for mistakes, huh? So what, you don't make mistakes?"

"I make mistakes and people die." He put the needle in, but she barely noticed.

She sighed, her words coming out bitter. "I'm the best surgical resident in my program and… today I killed a man because I couldn't do a stitch."

He nodded, his brow furrowed, and started cleaning up. He spoke while he worked. "In the field you do what you can. You work with what you have. It's about something. It's not about being the _best_. It's about saving lives." He came back to her bedside. "I make mistakes," he said softly. "Guys die by my hand, good guys, guys who were fighting for their country in a desert. And I don't know everything. Nobody does. So I make mistakes, and I learn. And the next time, I don't make that mistake again, so the next time, the next guy, that guy, he lives."

He had an enrapturing tenderness in his voice. It was strange to look at him, such a rough, flighty guy, and _listen_ to him at the same time. He was handsome, articulate, and skilled, but there was something else in his eyes. It was a shadow. He spoke, and a shadow grew in his expression.

"Mistakes are how you learn." His dark conclusion matched his eyes.

She turned the other way, curling up on her arm. She didn't want to make mistakes, no matter how much she would learn from them. She wasn't the type of person who made mistakes. Now all the chief would see when he looked at her was someone who could kill his patients because she made mistakes – it didn't matter if you learned something valuable. She could not be that person.

Owen took a step back from the table, clearing his throat and checking the area around him. He headed for the door, hanging in the frame. "Hey, sit tight, I'll be back. I'm gonna get something to dress that wound."

She almost said something sarcastic about sprinting for freedom, but she kept her mouth shut. Owen returned ten minutes later with a disinfectant solution and a few bandages. He stood by her side again, applying the solution with a popsicle stick – it was a bit unconventional, and there were other tools for it, but he didn't seem inclined to use them.

She shifted onto her back, stretching out her legs and groaning; she was starting to feel better, as if his presence had drained the crapiness out of the day. For all of its downfalls at least she'd gotten to spend the latter part of it being cared for by a hunk.

"You know you'd be good in the field," he said. "Now that you got this battle scar you'd fit right in."

She laughed. "Oh, right."

"I'm serious," he said. His words were sincere. "You should ditch this place and go for the adventure." He hovered over her again, hitting her with a hard, serious stare. "You're telling me this place gives you a rush? A high?"

She glanced around, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

He backed off a bit when the door opened. It was Webber. He looked a lot happier than he had earlier, when he'd come in to find her impaled and therefore useless. She expected him to say something to her about the death of Vincent Kenner, but he had his eyes on a different prize.

"Oh, Doctor Hunt, there you are." He closed the door behind him, throwing out his diplomat voice. "How's the gash on that leg?"

Owen glanced back at her, "Uh, Dr. Yang took good care of me. Excellent care."

"I made a few calls," Webber said, casting a glance of approval at Cristina. She looked at the ground. "They speak very highly of you at Maryland Shock Trauma. I also heard a story that you constructed an OR table from an exploded Humvee in the middle of the desert. That true?"

"Well you have to be innovative in the middle of the desert," Owen responded.

"You have to be innovative everywhere," Webber agreed. "How would you like a job, Doctor Hunt?" He looked so hopeful; it was almost sad to watch.

She was suddenly hopeful, too, though she couldn't explain it to herself. Owen was a nice guy, and from the little time she'd spent with him she could tell that he was a good doctor. It wouldn't be horrible for him to work at the hospital. But when the words left Webber's mouth, the trauma surgeon all but shut down. He looked shell-shocked. She could tell what the answer was before he started talking; his face was an open book.

"Uh… I appreciate the offer, but I am due to go back to the sandpit, finish my tour."

"Well, good luck to you," Webber said. He sounded genuine, but there was no hiding his disappointment. It was hard to face rejection, but he did it well; that's what made him a good leader. He smiled, shook Owen's hand, and left the room.

Cristina sat up and eased her legs over the side of the bed, watching her feet dangle. Owen was disposing of his gloves in the medical waste bin; he slammed the lid down. Cristina looked up, curious, as he pulled the blinds shut. He turned toward her.

"What?"

Suddenly he was right in front of her, his lips pressed urgently to hers. His hands threaded up into her hair. She kissed him back, caught up in the moment. It was a sweet, desperate kiss, right out of a romance novel, straight from the conclusion of a sappy chick flick, but the stars quickly emptied from her eyes and she pulled away from him. "I-I don't even know you."

He gave her a look that made her wish she did know him. His eyes were narrowed; the blue glittered like flame. His lips pressed into a perfect smile and he asked his favorite question.

"So?"

He turned away, effectively breaking the spell he'd put on her. She watched as he opened the blinds and tossed something else in the trash. He left the room without looking back. She stared after him, captivated and confused. He'd literally swept her off her feet and within hours of meeting her, he'd kissed her; and she'd let him. That kind of man was dangerous. It was the kind of intense passion she didn't need in her life right now. He would only complicate things.

And still, she wore a stupid, dopey smile, and her insides were alive with butterflies. She had only one word for him; it came out as a sharp whisper.

"_Hot_."


	2. Wartimes

**Season 5, Episode 12: Sympathy for the Devil.**

_**January of 2009.**_

Cristina sat on the couch, curling her legs up under her. She heard the water cut on in the bathroom and she rolled her eyes. So much for the magical first date she'd imagined. He was late and drunk, and now he was in her shower. She didn't even want to see him anymore. She just wanted this disaster to end before it could start rolling down the hill and picking up momentum.

"Yang! Yang!"

His voice bordered on panic. She rushed into the bathroom, finding him standing there in a stream of water, still completely dressed in that midnight black suit. He was soaking wet, just standing there like what he was doing was completely normal.

"I thought of it," he told her. "I thought of my best surgery ever."

"You're wearing shoes in my shower!" she complained.

He went on like she hadn't spoken. His excitement grew with each sentence. "My first blast injury in the field. The body was mangled – homemade explosive device, copper and wires embedded five inches deep in the abdomen, arms and legs hanging on by threads of skin. I'd never seen anything like it, not in a textbook, not in residency."

His eyes darted around and his brow furrowed.

"Incredible, body full of holes – trauma surgeon's dream."

She could see it getting to him. His own words had dented his enthusiasm. His voice grew grim and his eyes, his beautiful, expressive eyes, filled with sadness.

"I put tourniquets on where I could," he went on relentlessly, "Started tying off the arteries with my bare hands, but the bleeding was everywhere – stomach, chest. The best pressure I could think of was my own body, so I-I laid there for two hours on top of him, just not moving, trying to keep that dam from bursting with my hands, my knees, my elbows…"

It hurt to watch him, to listen to this horror story. If it had come from a textbook she wouldn't have been phased by it, but she was watching it play across his face, and all she could think about was how bad it must've been for him. There was nothing to describe this horrible, horrible tremor that entered his voice.

"Body full of holes," he said, his voice barely audible above the shower now, "And he never bled out. I wouldn't let him." He was clutching at his tie, balling the wet fabric into his fist, trying to pull it off but failing. "He made it to the hospital. He made it home. A month later he… he sent me a letter thanking me for saving his life, and then he shot himself."

He looked up at her, his lip trembling, and then he looked away again.

"That was my best surgery…"

He looked up into the flow of water. It ran all over his face and down his neck.

"…and my worst."

She couldn't let him stand there like that, looking defeated, like this man had just died all over again. It was her fault he was even thinking about it. She kicked off her shoes, pulling open the shower door and stepping inside. It was cold water, but she reached through it anyway, putting her hands on either side of his face. His eyes shut and he leaned into the touch.

She tugged at the knot in his tie, knowing that he was going to freeze if he stayed that way much longer. She pulled it up over his head and he didn't say a word. She ran her hand down his chest, undoing the buttons on his blazer, and then his shirt, and carefully sliding them from his shoulders. They dropped with a thud to the floor. She reached behind him and turned the water off, gently taking his wrist and tugging him out of the shower.

He was still for a moment, resisting, but then his eyes opened and he followed her. She pulled a towel from the shelf and wrapped it over his shoulders pulling it tightly to keep him warm. He was staring at her, his eyes hooded with thought, so she took his face in both hands. His cheeks were cold. "It's okay," she whispered, searching his face for some sign of the man she'd come to know; he was tucked away somewhere, and in his place was an empty shell.

She left him in there for a moment to go back into the bedroom. Once she was alone she paced the floor, trying to figure out what to do with the traumatized soldier. She couldn't just send him away. He was in pain – buckets of it – and she cared for him. He wasn't just some guy off the street. He'd pulled out her icicle, and they'd kissed on the vent. She'd told him about her dad and he'd told her this; possibly the most disturbing story she'd ever heard. She couldn't abandon him right now. She couldn't think of what might happen if she let him leave.

She turned to go back to the bathroom, but he was standing in the doorway, half-dressed and shivering with a towel over his shoulders. He looked confused. If the situation had been different, it would've been hilarious – alcohol, the devourer of great men.

Cristina tugged the towel tighter around his shoulders and undid his belt, keeping her eyes away as she pulled down his pants. They were soaked, as well, and he would warm up without them on. She took his wrist again and pulled him toward the bed, yanking back the covers. "Here. Lay down. You look exhausted."

"I'm sorry, I should-"

"You're not going anywhere," she said, cutting him off. She used the towel to dry his hair, running it down his chest and back. "Lay down," she repeated. He sat, testing the bed, and she rolled her eyes. She was amused, sad, and empathetic, all in the same sentence. "All the way down, sweetheart. There you go." She pulled the covers up to his chest and stood back from the bed. He tried to move and she held up her finger. "Stay."

He frowned at her. "I don't-"

"No."

"Cristina-"

"Sleep."

"But I-"

"Go to sleep before I sedate you."

"I can't just-"

"Try."

Finally he turned on his side, facing her, and folding his arm up under his head. He stared at her for a while, and she stood there, staring back, until the haze of alcohol pulled him under. His eyes slid shut, fluttered a few times, and then his breathing evened out. She remained where she was, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, watching a series of emotions play across his face. Even in his sleep he was an open book.

Cristina camped out on the couch, flipping through a gossip magazine but not seeing it. She couldn't help herself from imagining the man in his story – imagining Owen lying on top of him, struggling to stop the bleeding. Callie came home an hour later, stirring Cristina from a thoughtful trance. She made a face and motioned around. "What happened to your hot date?"

"You're not even supposed to come home tonight," Cristina responded, stretching. She was too drained to be mad, but her voice came out a little edgy.

"I'm just stopping off for some lunch – somebody keeps eating everything from our fridge so I keep it here." She walked to the fridge, babbling on her way. "I should probably call it something other than lunch. Lunch implies daylight."

Cristina relaxed into the arm of the couch, shutting her tired eyes.

"Hey I'm stealing your toilet paper."

"Wait!" She jumped up, startling Callie and earning herself a weird look. "Uh, I'll get it."

"Oh, you got somebody in there? Naughty, naughty. Wait, why are you out here?"

"He's not… he's not just somebody. It's Owen."

"You and _Owen_?" she exclaimed.

Cristina shrugged. "He's exhausted, and he just got to sleep. So I'll get it."

"Okay, okay, whatever. But why the couch if you have a hunk in your bed?"

"I don't even want to start to talk about it."

She slipped into the dark bedroom, cracking the door behind her. She stood in the bathroom doorway for a little while, watching him sleep, wondering what he was dreaming about, before she got what she came for and tried to make an escape. He sat straight up, making her jump and drop the toilet paper. He was staring right at her.

"Owen…?" she tested.

"It's dark," he said quietly.

"Yeah."

"Where are the stars?"

He was dreaming. She gathered up the toilet paper and made for the door, but Callie tipped it open and looked inside doubtfully, her eyebrow cocked. "It smells like liquor in here," she whispered. She motioned to Owen. "So the hot date… this is it?"

Cristina handed over the tissue and shut the door on her. She whispered through it. "We're not talking about this. This never happened." She turned, leaning against the wood. Owen was lying down again, but his eyes were open. He didn't seem to be able to see the ceiling but he kept staring at it, wrinkling his brow, narrowing his eyes.

"Where are the stars?" he repeated.

"We're inside, there are no stars," she told him, standing awkwardly by the door.

He drew in a sharp breath. "We made it to Baghdad?" His voice had been so devastated an hour ago. It had been so devastated that she could feel the sadness emanating from him. Somehow it was filled with longing now, and it hurt to hear it. He sounded so hopeful, so hesitantly hopeful.

She came over to the side of the bed, hovering, watching his face. "Yeah… we made it."

He didn't look at her. He stared at the ceiling for a little while, a smile twitching in his cheeks, and then his eyes rolled shut. "Thank God."


	3. Panic

**Season 5, Episode 14: Beat Your Heart Out.**

_**February of 2009.**_

She had just gotten off of the elevator. Blonde hair, a soft, slight smile, conservative, pastel-colored clothes, and wide, innocuous blue eyes – he was looking right at her, but he couldn't see her. He was immersed in a memory that made him ache inside. Everything he'd locked away, all of the 'before' that he'd struggled to forget, came rushing back in one moment. His heart dropped right out of his chest and the life he'd been carving out for himself came to a screeching, sickening halt; he felt nauseous, and he couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding in his ears.

_She is not here. She can't be here._

He ran. It was his only instinct. It was the only thing in the world he could fathom doing. He tore through the hallways until he found an empty procedure room. His head flooded and he paced the floors, desperately trying to keep himself from remembering; it was counterproductive, because each step brought an old memory to the front of his mind. He couldn't stop the onslaught of adrenaline, the assault on his heart, the tightening of his airways; the panic burned through him. He wanted to escape, but there was nowhere to run from his own body.

He clutched at his chest, trying to slow his heart, trying to find an easy breath. Suddenly the door opened and Cristina was standing there, a slight smile on her face, "What's going on?" Her smile faded as she took in the scene.

"Sorry," he blurted out. "Sorry, I can't… I can't…

"You're shaking," she objected.

He looked up, hearing what amounted to bombs going off above him. It was the fluorescent lights. He saw them, but he _felt_ sunshine beating down on him. He was halfway in the desert; one foot in the sand, the other on cold tile. He was holding one of her letters in one hand, and he had the other up in the air, creating a barrier between himself and Cristina.

"I saw someone…" he said, recognizing the panic and fear in his own voice, "…someone I knew. I can't do this." He realized that she was right – he was trembling. It was a chill that passed up and down his spine; it was the feeling that he was under attack. She advanced on him and he turned to her, shaking his head. "Please go away."

He twisted to the wall again, keeping his eyes on the ground; wooden floorboards, warmed by the summer sun, instead of cold tile_. I know this isn't real. I know this is my head… it's all in my head… _He knew what was happening, and why it was happening, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't escape it. He could hear his mother laughing happily, just like he'd heard it all those years ago. He felt like he was unraveling and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

Something touched his shoulder and he jerked away. "No, no. I don't want this!"

Cristina recoiled, and then wrapped both arms around his body. He struggled, but he had little strength to fight the contact. "No! I don't want this! I don't want it!" he yelled, trying to peel her hands away. She just held on tighter.

"I'm applying deep pressure here," she said urgently, tightening her grip again when he tried to buck her off. "To relax – to relax your sympathetic nervous system. It'll decrease your metabolic rate. You will feel more panic at first – you'll try to resist it," he jerked sideways, "You'll try to resist it, but eventually you will feel your pulse rate slow."

"I don't want this," he whimpered. He was staring at wooden paneling, and a doorway. His mother was inside, and so was Beth. But the sun no longer struck his back. Cristina was blocking it.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." Her voice lowered to a whisper that penetrated the dream. "Your breath will come easier." His muscle jerked with another shiver. "Your breath will come easier."

Finally the nightmare melted away. His eyes cleared and he saw exam equipment again. He looked down and found the tiles, instead of boards. His breathing slowed and evened out and he slipped down to the floor; Cristina went down with him, loosening her grip, but not releasing him. He held onto her arms, keeping her there – he felt that if she let go, he would go back there again.

"It's okay," she murmured, slowly relaxing her grip. "It's okay… It's okay…"

She slid around to his other side, holding onto his face with both hands. He stared at her, letting the fear trickle away. She had tied him to the present, and she was keeping him there; it was like she knew what was going on in his head. He could see it in her eyes – deep empathy, and affection, and a tenderness unmatched by anyone else. It made him think of their first date, the disaster he'd created, and how she'd taken care of him when the walls came crumbling down.

Cristina was his rock. She was warm and familiar, and her presence alone made the shaking stop. He came wholly into the present and the terror rolled away from him.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, still holding onto his face. She ran her thumb under his eye.

He nodded, testing his breathing again to be sure.

"Were you on your way home?"

He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

She looked around, biting her lip thoughtfully.

He leaned away from her hands, feeling shame now that the panic was over. How could he let himself get out of control like that? First he'd ruined their date, and now this? She was just being kind at this point. She thought he was some kind of basket case and she was going to politely nudge him out of her life.

"I'm sorry," he said, bracing his hand on the ground. He kept his eyes away from hers.

Her eyes snapped to his face and she shook her head. It seemed that she would say something right then, but instead she hugged him. She ran her hands up and down his back. "Don't apologize."

He was mesmerized by her. "But I-"

She drew away and stood up, holding out her hand for him. "Come with me."

"Cristina, I don't-"

"Owen," she said, cutting him off. "Come on."

He took her hand and she led him out of the exam room. For a split second the panic came back and he searched the hallways, looking for the trigger, but Cristina had already taken him into another room. It was dark and quiet, lit only by a small, stout lamp. He sat down on the foot of one of the beds, feeling a bit dizzy, while she reached under the mattress and pulled out a small leather-bound diary. She sat up against the pillows, her ankles crossed, and patted the space beside her.

He was weary, but he didn't have his own plans, so he laid down between her and the wall, using his elbow as a pillow. His chest was aching and a headache was rapidly spreading across his head, digging into his gums and making him squint.

They stayed like that for a while, Cristina reading through the diary and Owen watching her, focusing on the tiny changes in her face. But his mind started wandering and he felt the memories creeping up on him. He could only think of one thing to keep it from happening again. He rolled over and laid his head on her chest, listening for her heartbeat and letting himself fall into that rhythm. She was stiff at first, surprised by it, but then she laid her hand on the back of his head. He expected her to push him away, or find an excuse to leave him there alone, but when he looked up at her he found warmth in her expression.

His eyes slid shut of their own accord. It was peaceful here. Every now and then he heard her turn a page in the diary, her arms brushing over his hair, and every now and then she stopped to stroke his back, her fingers distracting him from his dark thoughts. She was soft and familiar, nothing like the harsh world he'd left behind.

Somehow he slept, and the nightmares left him alone.

XxX

Cristina woke with a start – someone was moving a gurney outside and the patient was groaning dramatically. She looked up, watching the shadows flicker under the door, and then pulled out her pager to check the time. It was early in the morning, earlier than rounds even, but the specific time didn't stick in her memory. She was more concerned with the grown man sleeping on her chest. He hadn't been bothered by the noise at all; she could feel his sluggish pulse in his wrist, which rested on her side, and his chest rose and fell with an even rhythm. She smiled to herself, craning her neck to see his face. He looked so peaceful. It was so much better than the panic she'd seen the night before. She'd been so scared for him that she'd forgotten how messed up it all was. The attack itself didn't even matter to her; if it had been anyone else, she would've reconsidered her interest, but Owen was the loophole.

It felt so natural to lie there with her arm across his back, to run little circles in his scrubs with her fingers, to brush his hair back and slide her fingernails across his cheek. He was handsome, and while he was asleep she could forget her concerns.

"Owen…" she whispered, running her hand down his face. "It's morning."

His eyes fluttered open. For a moment he seemed confused, but then he looked up at her and a sleepy smile spread across his face. He pulled himself up, relieving the pressure on her chest, and slid sideways, propped up on his elbow beside her. "I slept all night?"

He sounded genuinely surprised. She shrugged. "It's still early."

He smiled for a moment longer, but then it faded. He looked away. "I'm sorry… you shouldn't have seen that… I shouldn't have…"

"We've already established that you have issues."

He grimaced.

She touched his arm. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I don't… I don't know how to… I'm glad that you were there… I don't know what would've happened… I don't know how I…"

"I _was_ there," she cut in.

"Yeah." He appeared mystified. "I don't know why you're still here."

"I'm hoping you have a pot of gold stashed somewhere."

He laughed, his eyes shining. "Oh yeah?"

She smiled, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the lips. He leaned into it, his eyes sliding shut, but she pulled away. "I have to go home. My shower needs me." She got up, tucking the diary under her arm and remaining for a moment to admire him, lying there, all hunky and adorable. She tried to keep her concern for him at bay, but it bled out through her voice. "Will you be okay?"

His face darkened, but he nodded. "I'm fine. Yeah. See you later." She turned to open the door, but he stopped her, "Cristina?" She waited. "Thank you. I mean it."


	4. Ghost

**Season 5, Episode 15: Before and After.**

**February of 2009.**

Owen caught her walking in the hallway. He grabbed her arm before she could veer away, directing her into the closest on-call room. She walked straight inside and turned on him, waiting. She looked tired and angry, but above all he saw frustration in her. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. He had to make her hear him.

"I call her, alright?" he said, standing against the door. He almost expected her to make a run for it, and he was desperate to get these words across to her. "I call my mother once a week. I haven't told her I'm back. She thinks I'm calling from…" he sighed. It was harder than he'd thought. He pressed on, letting what he felt come out as a rush of perfect honesty. "I keep the conversations short because I can't bear for her to know that the son she sent off to war is gone. He's gone."

It hurt him to say that. He took a breath, hoping the throbbing in his chest would subside, but it only worsened. Just speaking of this wounded him. He let his hand fall off of the doorknob. "And if I just drove the six miles to see her, she'd be so… sad, and she would look at me the same way that Beth does now… Like I'm not there."

He stepped closer, cautious, trying to read her face. She listened quietly, staring at him intently, but he couldn't figure out what she was thinking. Perhaps she was just being kind, waiting for him to finish so she could tell him that their romance – whatever it was they had – would end here. He had the urge to reach out to her, to touch her arm, to hold her face, but he suppressed it. He reached out with his words – he put everything he had into them, because this could not be the end.

"The only time I don't feel like a ghost is when you look at me because you look at me and you see me. You _see_ me. This is me. This is me." He lowered his head, trying to catch her eyes, but she was staring at the floor. "Please, Cristina, see me." Silence. "See me."

She looked up, considering him for a long, long minute, and then a very slight smile tugged at her cheek. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd held, intimately relieved by that expression. It was all he wanted to see. It was the most perfect expression in the world to him. And he didn't know how she did it. He didn't know how she could understand something like that – he didn't even understand it.

He shook his head, smiling. "How do you do that?"

She took a slow breath and stepped up to his chest, and then hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He relished the contact. For a little while he'd thought he had lost her – seeing Beth again had made the world crumble around him – but she understood. She was understanding. Cristina of all people. She was… enchanting.

"Let me take you to dinner. You must be starving."

She shook her head against his chest, shifting to look up at him. She had her lips pressed together thoughtfully. "I have to… finish the paperwork for Mr. Whitman, and then Meredith wanted to hang out… but I could blow her off."

He stroked her hair, pulling her back against him. He stayed that way for a moment before he answered. "No, you should spend time with Meredith. I should, um, get back to the ER anyway."

She nodded, releasing him and heading for the door.

"Cristina?"

She paused, glancing back at him, her brow furrowed. "What?"

"Are we… we're good, right?"

"We're good."


	5. Blink of an Eye

**Season 5, Episode 19: Elevator Love Letter.**

_**March 25, 2009**_

Owen vaguely remembered being drunk here before. His first date with Cristina, if that disaster could be called a date, had begun right where he was standing. She'd opened the door and looked at him with disappointment; and that had hurt, but being drunk helped soften the blow. He was late, and he was nervous, and he felt like he was diving headfirst into the real world after spending so long in a place of constant extremes. Life and death. Safety and utter chaos. Gleaming daylight and cold, black night. But he was at her door again, and he wasn't drunk, and the majority of the desert had drained out of him since then. He was confident that this night would go well.

He knocked three times, his hand hovering before the fourth. He didn't want to seem desperate to get in, even if he was. Cristina opened the door a moment later, flashing him a smile that made an entire day of blood and disaster fade away. She took his hand and led him inside.

"You know the living room, the kitchen," Cristina said, motioning around. She stopped on her roommate, frowning. "And you know Callie, who was just going to bed."

"It's six," Callie objected from the couch. It only took a moment's glaring from Cristina to make her move. She stomped toward her room. "Fine. But don't have sex on that couch. It's a nice couch. I eat breakfast on that couch."

Cristina sat on the couch in question and patted the seat beside her, smiling in a weird, pleasant way. When he sat down she offered him a bowl of candy. "Twizzlers?"

He laughed. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"You don't have to make this awkward," she said.

"You're the one who just offered me a bowl of candy."

"It's called an icebreaker." She smiled at him again, retrieving a laptop from the coffee table and unfolding it in her lap. She pulled up a video and slid it half onto his lap, watching his face. "It's an arm reattachment. I thought you would like it."

He couldn't stop himself from laughing, but when she frowned, disheartened, he put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "You found me a trauma video?"

She nodded. "Well, there's no TV."

If it had been anyone else – literally anyone else in the world – who'd said something like that to him, he would've thought it was strange, but Cristina had a way with words. She said it so matter-of-factly, like finding him a gory snuff film was the most normal thing in the world. He had to laugh. He couldn't help himself. And his laughter made her laugh, and then they were both stuck laughing until Callie came out to tell them to shut the hell up.

As soon as her door slammed their eyes met again and they started giggling like children, tears rolling down their faces. She offered him the Twizzlers again and he couldn't contain a snort, which made her go silent for a moment, her mouth covered. "You snorted," she said, pressing her lips together hard. Her eyes shined.

"I did. I did snort."

She leaned her head into his suddenly, shutting her eyes and sighing. "I'm not gonna say it."

"Say what?"

"She'll yell at us again. I don't know if it's worth it."

"Say it," he encouraged, tipping her head up.

She smiled, shaking her head. "Men are pigs."

He laughed a throaty, chesty kind of laugh, throwing his head back. Something about that moment kept a smile on his face; it stayed that way for so long that his cheeks hurt. He felt like they'd been displaced from the world he'd known – she'd grabbed onto him and dragged him someplace happier, and he knew that she wouldn't let go. He just knew it.

When the laughter died down she leaned further into him, tipping her head up to look at his face. She still had that lively shine in her eyes, but her voice was subdued. "I thought you were crazy when we first met. I mean, the trach in the field… with a pen! And the staple thing. And then you kissed me… I mean, I didn't even know who you were. Who does that? Who kisses someone they just met?"

"Crazy people, apparently," he said, though his words didn't really achieve much volume. It was more of a whisper. He ran one hand through her hair, his fingers traveling to her ear, and her cheek, and then her neck.

She slid closer to him, putting her hands on his shoulders and pressing a slow, sweet kiss to his lips. He was overwhelmed with _want_ for a moment, but he resisted the urge to make the kiss deeper. He stayed still, his breath hitching when she kissed his cheeks, and then his neck, and then his collar. It was romantic, and quiet, and comfortable; he liked the feeling of her breath on his skin, the delicate way her fingers rested on his shoulders, the flutter of her eyelids when she looked up at him. She could've told him to do anything in that moment, and he would've done it; not dumbly, not blindly, but happily. He was helplessly captivated by this woman.

When she pulled away from him he leaned into her, having hoped she would go on, or allow him to, but the moment seemed to be over. She smiled at him with a strange mixture of embarrassment and thoughtfulness, and then she played the video.

He sat with her for hours, content with their comfortable closeness, before his pager started beeping wildly at his hip. He heard Callie's going off in her room as well. Cristina's eyes shot to his face as he retrieved it from the side table. "Looks like I've gotta cut our date short," he said, jumping up and shrugging his coat on. "I… I had fun."

She smiled wryly and sat back on the couch. "You're not on call tomorrow night, right?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so."

"You should come over."

He was already halfway to the door, but her words made him pause. He smiled back at her, nodding a bit like an excited teenager. "Okay. Uh, see you then."

_**March 26, 2009**_**.**

It was the middle of the night and the sky was dotted with stars. It was beautiful out; bitingly cold, but not dangerously so, dark, but still a bit luminous, treacherous, but still strangely comforting. He sat around a low fire, warming his hands, listening to his friends talk about everything and nothing. They were at ease, but Owen was on edge. He hadn't been a soldier for very long, and he'd been told that his instincts were off when it came to danger, but he couldn't make himself settle down. He still felt uncomfortable with a gun strapped to his side, and a rifle leaning up against his knee. He still felt that anything could happen at any time.

And he was right.

They came from every direction. Gunfire erupted and the quiet night screamed with flashes. He saw one familiar face in the thick of the battle, and it wasn't a friendly one. It was the ringleader of this particular group; the man who'd organized dozens of attacks across the providence. Owen knew his face beyond the shadow of doubt. That face was coming toward him, and he retreated, fumbling with a knife that was strapped to his chest. It released from its sheath just as he felt the ringleader's own knife enter his torso.

He dropped his own weapon and tackled the other man, struggling to keep the blade at a safe distance. He could hear him screaming, and he could tell that the skirmish was drawing to an end. Less gunfire, more shouting. He managed to get his hands around the insurgent's neck.

He couldn't make his hands stop squeezing.

His attacker lay below him, squirming, trying in vain to free himself. His eyes were desperately searching the sky behind Owen, looking for his deity, begging for a way out of this terrible, impossible situation. He could feel his pain and fear, but for a few moments Owen shut it out. He shut out the empathy and focused on the anger deep within him. He thought about his friends, his fellow soldiers, and the horrible deaths they'd suffered at the hands of this man. Their blood was on his hands, even as those hands flailed around and batted at Owen's face, even as this mastermind began to lose the last bit of oxygen he'd stored in his brain. Owen focused on how much he deserved this moment. He focused on how it felt to drip blood on the person he was intent to kill.

"_Owen_!"

But suddenly the man wasn't there. His fight for survival ended in a violent flash; the cold, dead night in the desert became a familiar bedroom; his attacker became someone he would never try to harm. It all came back to him in the blink of an eye.

Cristina fell away beneath him, clambering into the bathroom, gasping and crying. He was sitting up against her headboard, his hands shaking from the impossible rush of adrenaline. Callie was in the doorway, staring at him, horrified and incredulous. He could hear Cristina hyperventilating in the bathroom. He stared at the bathroom door, trying to grasp what was happening, trying to understand what he had done. Callie darted from the doorway and he looked up, deciding in that moment to go for the bathroom door. It was locked. She stopped gasping when he tried to get in and he put his hand on the fractured glass. "Cristina…"

She said nothing.

He backed away until he hit another wall. His head was spinning. _What did I do? Oh, god, what have I done? What have I done?_

He tried to pull himself completely into this moment, but his mind was racing in all different directions. His dream faded rapidly, like water slipping through his trembling fingers, and he was left with the reality of what he'd done. One moment he had been lying in bed with her, covering her up, cutting off the lamp… and then he'd awakened with his hands on her throat. He heard Callie in the other room, screaming something to Meredith. Was she going to call the police next? How could he possibly explain this?

He turned slightly to leave, but his eyes fell on the bathroom door again and he couldn't make himself do it. He had to see her. He had to see if she was okay. So he waited there until Meredith rushed through their room – she threw him a confused glance and went to the door, knocking and announcing herself. He heard it unlock, and then she vanished inside.

He could hear them talking, but it was like he was listening through a tunnel. Callie stood in the bedroom doorway, her arms crossed insecurely, watching him, probably waiting for him to snap and ax-murder her. He couldn't stand the way she was looking at him. He crossed the room and stood at the door, knocking, trying to see through the glass. "Cristina… please." He heard nothing. "Is she alright, Meredith? I just need to know that she's alright."

Within seconds the door opened and she stood there, filled with false confidence. His eyes locked onto the deep red ridges in her neck and suddenly he felt like he was drowning. He couldn't say what he wanted to say; it all just fell out of his mouth.

"I am so sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what happened. I don't remember." And then he was crying. His fear hit him like a brick wall, and those words came back to him. _What have I done?_ "I don't know what happened… I'm sorry…"

"Look at me," she commanded. He forced his head up, his eyes scanning her face. He expected the worst, but her words were a sweet, sweet relief to him. "I'm fine. See? It's okay. You were asleep. It's okay." She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and all he could do was press his face into her hair. "It's okay," she said, over and over again, her voice the only thing mounting him to the ground. "It's okay… It's okay…"

_What have I done?_


	6. Roadblock

**Season 5, Episode 23: Here's to Future Days.**

**May 13, 2009.**

Cristina was in an on-call room, sitting up against the wall with her knees to her chest, and her fingers digging into her temples. She didn't want to go home to Callie and all of her stupid happiness, and she didn't want to go to the bar and drown herself in bottom-shelf liquor; she didn't want to move from this spot, because everything was screwed up, and the slightest movement would topple the house of cards everyone had been building. She didn't even want to admit that she was terrified of what was happening – to her Izzie, to Owen, to George – so she was planning on avoiding them all like the plague, at least until she'd sorted it out for herself.

So she found herself hiding out here, sitting back and taking stock of what was happening. Her best friend was married, Izzie was a breath away from death, George was literally throwing himself into the frying pan, and her relief from that, her beacon of hope, her freaking knight in shining armor, was dragging his feet in therapy because he couldn't bear to see his own mother. It was like she'd been dropped into a sitcom and she hadn't noticed until now.

When the door opened she looked up, sighing when she found Owen standing there. He had his favorite expression ruffling up his face – drawn eyebrows, big, sad eyes, and a deep frown. He closed the door behind him and took a seat beside her; he was at acquaintance distance, his shoulder almost a foot from hers. He watched her face, thoughtful, and relaxed against the wall.

It felt like they hadn't been this close since he had almost killed her.

"Long day," he commented.

She shrugged.

"Listen… about earlier-"

"Save it. I'm not clearing your conscience so you can run off to the desert."

His eyes hardened. He nodded. "I know. I was going to say that I'm not going back." He rested his hand between them. It could've been a purposeless gesture, but for the two of them, it was clear what was happening. He was reaching out. He kept his eyes on the door, his voice softening. "I thought I could find something there, like I could dig through a dune and find whatever I'd lost…" he paused, swallowing, "But it's not that easy."

She didn't respond to him because she knew if she opened her mouth, something bitter would come out, and he didn't deserve that right now. She just let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes on his face. Her hand dropped from her lap, inches from his, and she wondered what he would do if she wound their fingers together.

He mimicked her posture, laying his head back to stare at her. The room only had one light, a dim lamp behind her, and it made his eyes smolder. "I-I wanted to do _something_, though. I feel like I'm treading water here."

She gauged his mood, and then said, "Yeah you should definitely shave."

He chuckled, his lips forming an adorable, but sad smile. "I wanted to go see my mom."

She waited to see if he would elaborate, or explain his plan, or even tell her why he couldn't do it this time, but he said nothing. He just stared at her, waiting, his fingers balling up the section of blanket between them.

"Are you going to?"

He looked down at his fingers, sighing. "I can't. I go to her house, and I stand on the curb, and I work up what I'm going to say to her, but I can't do it. I can't make myself go any further. What I said today about going back… I think I wanted to run, to go anywhere but here so I didn't have to ask you what I'm about to ask you." His fist balled up suddenly, startling her.

She waited until his hand uncurled, until the muscles in his forearm relaxed; she waited until he was looking at her again, waiting for her to say something.

Her mind went elsewhere as she stared back at him. She thought about how strange it was to know both versions of Owen, how she was the only one who really saw them both in contrast. Everyone else knew the commanding trauma surgeon, cool in a crisis, and she knew the part of him that existed when it was just the two of them; the softer, sweeter, sadder man who let his every thought and feeling come out shamelessly. He trusted her with that side of himself. He was trusting her with it now, though she couldn't figure out why. She was not the person normal people sought to confide in; others saw her as cold and uncaring, but Owen put his faith in her.

Her residual anger for him, and the bitterness she felt for the world at the moment, faded away. It didn't even matter anymore. She slid her hand over his, her fingertips brushing his knuckles, and leaned a fraction closer. "Ask me what?"

His eyes darted over her face. "Will you go with me?"

There were a million things she wanted to do more – milking a cow was higher on the list than going with him to see his mother – but there was no way she could turn him down. She couldn't look at him and turn him down, not when his eyes were smoldering like that, not when they were in a room, alone, holding hands, at the perfect distance for kissing. She was captivated by him. She had to force herself to sit straight again, fearing if she leaned any further she would give in, and in this state he would let it happen, and they would be right back where they started.

She looked at the door again, taking a deep breath, wondering what she was about to get herself into. "Y-Yeah. Yes. I'll go."

XxX

Cristina stared at a little suburban house with faded white wooden paneling and sprawling ferns hanging from every possible perch. Flowers grew beside the stone arches alongside the steps and empty flower pots were nestled in the niches between old rocking chairs. She was trying to imagine a smaller, less damaged version of Owen sprinting across that lawn, or riding his bike next to the curb; she wondered what it must've been like to grow up here, so close to the city, yet so far from its chaos. His childhood must've been so different from hers. It must've been so peaceful.

But he didn't look at it like she did. He had a shadow on his face as he stared past her. His voice was not as vulnerable as before. "Will you come with me?"

She looked over at him with the answer in her eyes. She wouldn't drag him down that path. He was a grown-up and he could handle this on his own. His eyebrows drew together and his face pinched with thought, the kind that made her wonder what went on in his head. He nodded, accepting her silent rejection, and left the truck. She jumped a little when the door slammed shut, sitting up and gazing at the front door again. She waited to see him walking down that cement path, but it remained empty.

She stepped out, standing in the grass, and found Owen at the back of the truck. He had his hand braced on the tailgate and he was staring down at the curb, both feet planted firmly in the street. It would've been funny it if weren't so painfully sad – over six feet of badass army-vet trauma surgeon, terrified to see his own mother, unable to take a simple step onto the lawn.

Cristina walked over to him, hesitant, waiting for him to say something. She almost expected him to bolt in the opposite direction. When he didn't make a move, or a sound, she stood beside him in the street and slipped her hand into his, murmuring, "This is what you wanted."

"I know," he snapped, swallowing hard.

She considered leaving him there. Her feet ached and she'd had enough angst from him for one day, but she couldn't make herself do it. She was no longer that person; or maybe she was, and he was the exception. She wouldn't let him tread water any longer. She had dragged him this far and she was going to see him through it. She put her other hand on his forearm, sliding her fingers up and down his skin. "Okay… we'll go when you're ready."

He nodded, remaining there for what felt like another five minutes. She passed the time by counting the ferns on his mother's porch, and then the floorboards, and then the bulbs on the Christmas lights that were still wrapped around the oak tree in the front yard. He jerked forward suddenly, pulling her with him, and she matched his brisk pace across the grass.

Once they were on the porch he released her hand. He looked over at her, doubtful, and knocked on the door. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself after that; he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking up and down the porch, bouncing from one foot to the other.

When the door swung open Owen's face lit up. The cloud of doubt dissipated and he smiled a soft, sweet smile. His mother stood within the house, flabbergasted.

"Owen?"

"Hi, mom," he responded, glancing over at Cristina. His eyes were glimmering, but she saw some reservations lingering there. He would worry about what his mother saw – a ghost of him, or the man that he was now. He stepped into the house. "I'm home." He pulled her into a tight hug and she threw her arms around him, tears slipping down her face.

Cristina watched them, unsure of what she should do. She waited awkwardly at the back of the porch while they hugged it out, pretending something interesting was happening on her phone. She listened to a very short, emotional conversation, and then Owen threw her to the sharks.

"Uh, mom, this is Cristina." Her eyes shot up and she glared at him. His smile was unshakeable. "She doesn't socialize well but… she's the reason I made it here."

His mom didn't seem put off by her at all; she crossed the porch and wrapped her in a hug that smelled like cinnamon and old leather. Cristina kept her eyes on Owen – adorable, happy Owen – and struggled to remember why she'd been mad at him.

"Thank you for bringing him to me," his mother whispered to her. She pulled away, holding Cristina by the shoulders. "You should come in. You should both come in and have some of the crumble I made. It was for church in the morning but they could all stand to lose a few pounds." She pulled Cristina to the door, "And you two look like you're starving – what were they feeding you over there, sand?"

Owen smiled apologetically when she shot him a glance. His mother shuffled her through the hallway, which was small, and lined with pictures of family and friends. She brought her into the living room at the back of the house, which connected to the kitchen. It smelled like heaven there, and Cristina's eyes quickly locked onto a dessert cooling on the counter.

His mother released her and went for it, pulling a spatula and a knife from the drawers and arranging plates. She even pulled out a bucket of cool whip.

"You don't have to stay," Owen breathed.

"There's food involved, of course I'll stay," Cristina responded. Half of her wanted to high tail it out of there, but the other half, the dominant half, was filled with raging curiosity – and that crumble was making her salivate. Besides, Owen looked uncomfortable having her there in his childhood living room, so she would relish it. This was her revenge for him bringing up going back into the army earlier. It was vicious, but he deserved it.

His mother urged them onto the couch and Cristina happily kicked off her shoes, forcing Owen onto the middle cushion and taking the one with the side table for herself. He smiled at her, snorting and shaking his head. "You're not seeing my baby pictures."

"What am I, your prom date?"

"My mom tends to… overshare."

"She's proud of her little man," she nudged his shoulder, laughing.

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Ooh, you've got to show me your Power Ranger sheets."

"They're dinosaur sheets, and no."

XxX

It was dark out when Owen stopped the car outside of Cristina's apartment building. She looked up, finding lights where there should have been darkness. Callie was still awake. Owen killed the engine and took a few deep breaths, toying with the keys.

"Did you have to ask for a narrative of my childhood?"

"Did we hurt your ego?"

"I'm not embarrassed, I just don't think it was appropriate for her to tell you all that."

"You didn't stop her."

"She's my mother, what am I supposed to do?"

"I think you are a little embarrassed. Just a little."

He laughed, smiling to himself.

She laughed with him, but the laughter died away, and they were left with the cold and the quiet. Cristina prepared to get out, her hand on the door, but she turned toward him instead. She leaned over, trying to catch his eye. "Owen… how do you feel?"

He pressed his lips together, nodding, flashing an uncertain smile. "I feel good, I feel right. That was the right thing to do. And she was happy – you saw she was happy. She doesn't have to worry that I'm two steps away from being blown up… she doesn't have to think about that anymore. She knows I'm okay."

"Are you?"

He looked over, his brow furling.

"Are you okay?" she repeated.

"I-I – for the moment, I am. Yeah. I am." He was nodding to himself, not looking at her. He hit the unlock button and grasped the keys. "Goodnight, Cristina."


	7. Hardball

**A/N: I wanted to say thank you for all of the reviews I've gotten so far. I was so surprised when I posted this last night to see so many responses. I am so flabbergasted, but grateful, for everyone who has taken the time to leave me their reactions and thoughts on my story. If you have any scenes you think would mesh well in the future of this story please tell me about them. I'm always open to suggestions. I hope you all keep reading, because, trust me, there is so much more to come.**

**XxX**

**Season 6, Episode 2: Goodbye**

**July 16, 2009**

"I can't get back on Bailey's service. I mean, she's still not even looking at me."

It was a quiet little room with an air vent in one corner, and a polished oak desk in the other. She was sitting on one of those old, compact couches, shifted to the side to focus on the man she had come in with. She paid little attention to the woman sitting in front of them, reserving all of her interest for Owen. Their conversation was a light one, and though it was completely off topic, she was glad for it. He hardly spoke to her outside of this little room.

Owen had that confident, familiar look on his face. He spoke evenly, his posture relaxed. "You just gotta give it time. You know she was close to O'Malley, and she's working-"

"Yeah, but the thing is, it's not even about O'Malley." She cut him off, a childish whine coming into her voice. "I mean, she's mad at me about Ceviche."

He laughed. "You gotta stop that."

Dr. Wyatt laid her notebook down, her eyebrows pulled. "Ceviche?"

"Oh, it's a – It's a patient," Cristina told her.

"A boating accident victim," Owen said, his voice getting a little edgy. "She thinks it's okay to call her a seafood dish. I mean is that – is that okay?"

"It's a delicious Peruvian dish," Cristina defended.

The therapist looked a little uncomfortable. She had her eyes on Cristina. "Well, it's pretty dark."

"Oh, come on, I'm dark?" Cristina countered. "I'm the not the one going around choking people in their sleep."

Owen threw his hands up, laughing, "What?"

For a moment they laughed. Cristina thought it would breeze over, that his amusement would remain despite the cold thing that had found its way to her lips, but it didn't work out that way. It sunk into her first. She saw Dr. Wyatt frowning disapprovingly in her peripheral vision, but she didn't take her focus off of Owen. He laughed, and then he frowned, registering it on another level. She calmed her voice. "Too soon?"

He looked between her and the therapist, as if confirming that this was truly happening, and his sad look turned into an agonized one. His tone was urgent. "_I'm_ not the guy going around choking people in their sleep."

"I know." Cristina sat up a little, edging closer. She knew she shouldn't have said it, that she had caused him pain, but she didn't have a redo button. She had triggered this.

"It was a dream," Owen defended, his tone carrying on with the same desperation she'd heard that night in her bedroom. "I… I can't remember what I was dreaming about, but… I was trying to save my own life. I wasn't trying to hurt you." He paused, looking down at his hands, which had stilled in his lap as his gestures died away. His voice got quieter. "I was fighting for my life."

She didn't know what she could say to him. This wasn't her area. She didn't have that gift, and she had never wished for it until this moment. She just nodded, hoping her fear for him, her regret at her choice of jokes, and her patience showed through her expression.

"Okay."

Dr. Wyatt picked that moment to intercede. She sat up, shutting her notebook, capping her pen, and looking between the two of them with a muted sadness on her face. "You made a start." Her eyes fell particularly hard on Owen, who seemed to be waiting for something more out of her. She nodded to him. "_You_ made a start."

Cristina kept her eyes on the couch, letting the situation diffuse as the minutes passed in silence. She listened to the sounds of the therapist packing up, and then Owen rose to shake her hand. It was a manly, military kind of handshake. He didn't seem angry, but he wasn't happy, either.

"I'm not sure you need to come back," Dr. Wyatt said to Owen. She had pride in her eyes. "If you can keep this communication going, keep your thoughts and feelings available to one another, then you can start to heal." She put her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him. "You will start to heal, Owen. I can see it."

Owen nodded, looking back at Cristina. She glanced up, finding both pairs of eyes on her. That was her cue to get up. She retrieved her coat and put it on at the door, waiting for Owen to finish murmuring with the therapist. She tested the texture of the plant in the corner, wrinkling her nose at the dust that rolled onto her fingers. Owen opened the door and waited for her to go through, a distant expression clouding his face. She walked with him into the parking lot, turning at the truck to look back at the therapist. She was leaving her office for the night.

"Hey," Owen caught her attention. He was on the other side of the truck, leaning over the hood. His eyes were full of stars. "You okay?"

She was baffled for a second, and then she nodded. She didn't know why he was asking her that. She got in, but once the door shut she realized what was wrong. She stared at herself in the side mirror. She looked ghostly, and afraid, and unsure. It was not a common expression for her. She was much more unsettled on the outside than on the inside.

She couldn't explain it to Owen, who kept looking over at her on the drive back to her apartment. She just leaned into her window, staring at the raindrops that were beginning to collect on the glass. She tried to shake the hope that was bubbling up inside.

He took the elevator with her, but he lingered against the doorframe when she entered the apartment. She waited against the counter, her eyes falling on her roommate, who was spread eagle on the couch, half-naked, and blaring ferocious Spanish pop music through earbuds that dangled over her shoulders. Her snoring practically rattled the windows.

"You can come in," Cristina said at last, holding out her hand for Owen. He stepped across the threshold and took it, tugging her closer to him. She let him wrap her up in a hug.

She guided him into her room and sat cross-legged on the end of her bed. Owen came over more slowly, glancing around the room before settling beside her. He cleared his throat, looking down at the space between them. "That was… intense."

She nodded, releasing the breath she'd been holding. "That's one word for it."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"I'm sorry I said you… choke people in their sleep."

He smiled in the same way he had earlier, but this time it didn't fade away. It ebbed into a glow that he wore very well. It was like the stars had come in with them, and they were still there in his eyes. He didn't seem willing to speak, but the heat was there between them. Cristina scooted a little closer, pressing her hands to his neck, his shoulders, and his face. She enjoyed his warmth, the way he leaned into her touch, the quiet sounds he made. She leaned in to kiss him, savoring the brief, but powerful contact.

He pulled back. "I don't want to hurt you again."

She let him retreat.

He sighed heavily, his brow pulling down. "My problems, they're real. And this, this makes us real. It makes my problems your problems." He went on, relentless, and the emotion in his voice became as raw as it had been in therapy. "I'm afraid. I don't want to hurt you again."

She stared at him, searching his face, trying to come up with a solution that meant they could be together completely again. She needed him. She needed that closeness. She needed to forget about the horrible things that had happened in the last few weeks. She had to have him, so she went with the simplest, most honest response in her head.

"You can sleep in the bathtub."

He laughed, "What?"

His eyes shone brightly, happily, and she had to kiss him. She captured his face in her hands and pressed her lips urgently to his. For a moment they drew away from each other, smiling like they had before their lives had been interrupted, and her spirit was lifted. George was still dead, and Izzie still had cancer, but for the moment it all faded away.

**XxX**

**Season 6, Episode 3: I Always Feel like Somebody's Watchin' Me.**

_**August of 2009.**_

It rocketed toward her, a small white object barely visible in the twilight. It covered the space between the pitcher's mound and home base in a matter of seconds. She swung, bracing herself for the impact to the bat, but she hit nothing. She heard the ball smack into the metal fence behind her and thud lifelessly into the dirt.

She ground her teeth and nodded to Owen again, repositioning her bat. "Go again. I have it this time. Wait, was I high or low last time? Never mind, punch it."

He smiled patiently and hit the button, sending another ball hurtling toward her. She missed again. "Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested, flipping off the machine and starting to pack it up. He looked as exhausted as she felt. "You can't always finish off with a homerun."

"I could at least hit the damn thing," she said, stepping back to stuff his bats into a long leather bag. She started gathering up the balls, sighing contemptuously when the batting helmet threatened to fall off. She stopped when she realized that she didn't know why she was so frustrated. Owen already had the pitcher under his arm and he was coming over when she looked up at him. He paused, frowning. She started zipping up the bag.

"I still feel like I'm competing with them."

He twisted his lips, nodding. "You're not competing with anyone. Not right now." He set the pitcher down and forced her to drop the bag, turning her toward the field. "Look around. Everyone else is gone. It's just you and me out here."

"You can be dramatic. Did you know that?"

He laughed, pressing a warm kiss to her cheek. He spoke right beside her ear. "You're not competing with anyone in the first place – you are brilliant, and there's no way anyone would get any other idea." He kissed her cheek again, smiling against her skin. "Believe me when I say that you have nothing to worry about. _Trust_ me."

She sighed, wishing his words had more of an effect on her. A tremor of anxiety remained underneath it all. She leaned back into his chest. "Have you ever had sex on a baseball field?"

"I'd rather have sex in your bed."

"You don't want mosquito bites on your ass?"

"I'm gonna try to avoid that."

She broke away from him, picking up the pitcher and indicating the bag. "Okay, let's get this show on the road. Last one to the truck is the bottom bitch."

"That's not funny!"

She started running, spinning around the fence opening and making a mad dash for his truck. He was still objecting, but he jumped the fence and sprinted after her, laughing. She made it first, sticking her tongue out at him as she hopped into the passenger's seat. She slid the pitching machine into the tiny backseat and waited, smiling when he got in. He was panting.

"Looks like you're the bottom bitch," she commented.

He snorted, cranking up the engine and rolling down the windows. She pushed the center console up and slid to the middle seat, doing her best to distract him while he tried to back out of the field. He was on the border of amusement and irritation.

"I'm not the bottom bitch," he said.

She smiled patronizingly. "Oh, I think you are."

They made it onto the road. He put his right arm around her and steered with his left hand. "We don't have one of those."

"Now we do."

"Say it one more time, and I'll put us in the ditch."

She leaned up to his ear. "Bottom bitch."

His hand moved from her shoulder to her stomach in an instant. She retreated to the other side of the truck, unable to help a girlish giggle as he tickled her. "I'm what now?" he demanded, glancing over to force his hand between her arms. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Owen! I'm gonna pee!" She wrestled his hand, forcing it down flat on her thigh. She was glad that he was driving, because he _always_ won when he had both arms. He had a mischievous look on his face. His fingers drummed against her leg. "Fine, you're not the bottom bitch. But you are a bitch."

She slid back to the center, lifting his arm around her shoulder again and leaning into him. Her playful mood slipped away as she looked through the windshield; she could barely see the stars, and none of them were twinkling. "I know you want me to stop worrying…" she murmured, reaching up and running her fingers over his hand. "But I can't just _stop_. It's not that easy."

"I know," he responded softly.

When they pulled into the parking garage of the apartment building, she sat still for a moment, unwilling to get out. Owen came to her door the passenger's door and opened it, holding out his hand for her. She took it and slid to the edge of the seat, where he folded her into his arms. It was probably her favorite place in the world aside from the OR; right there against his heart, listening to its strong, persistent beating.

"I don't want you to worry about all of that tonight, okay?" he said, pulling back and cupping her face in both hands. He stooped down so their faces were inches apart. "Now we're gonna go upstairs, and I'm gonna make love to you, and you're gonna forget about everything else, okay? Just for tonight. Can you do that?"

She nodded.

"Okay then. Come on," he stepped back, closing the door once she'd gotten out. The elevator was empty and it was ghostly upstairs. The apartment was dark and Callie's door was closed. "You hungry?" Owen wondered. He hovered at the island, looking doubtfully at the empty pizza box splayed across the counter.

Cristina glanced at it, disappointed, and shrugged. "We can eat a big breakfast. Frozen waffles or something. I think we have some of those." She turned on her bedroom light, leaning into the doorframe and looking at the bed. She was trying to figure out if she was even in the mood for sex. She was tired, physically and mentally, but she also wanted to forget her worries. It sounded pretty good to get lost in him right now.

She cracked the door and started undressing, listening to Owen open cabinets in the kitchen. She didn't feel like eating. She left only her underwear on, curling up on her side of the bed and yawning. Moments later Owen came in, smiling at her. "If you're too tired I can…"

She patted the bed beside her, "Cut off the light."

The room went dark and the door shut. She heard him taking off his clothes on the way to the bed and she pulled back the comforter for him. As soon as he was lying beside her, she nuzzled her way under his arm and laid her head on his chest. He kissed her head, his hand running up and down her bare back.

"Tell me a story," she whispered.

He was quiet for a moment. "What kind of story?"

"Something with a happy ending."

"You don't believe in happy endings."

"Sometimes they happen," she admitted. She slid her arm over him, her palm resting on his clavicle, her fingers tracing his neck.

"Once upon a time there was a woman who wouldn't stop worrying about being cut from her surgical program," he began.

She snorted.

"What?"

"Is the moral going to be that the boyfriend was right all along?"

"Maybe. Haven't got there yet. Anyway, this woman, this gorgeous, intelligent, capable woman was so anxious that her hair started falling out."

"Hey!"

"All of the characters in the following story are fictional."

She huffed.

"One day this gorgeous woman met a tall, handsome man-"

"Whose name was George Clooney."

He had a smile in his voice. "Yeah, she met George Clooney, and he told her to stop worrying so that her hair would grow back. That way when the cuts went out and she found out she was still in the program, she wouldn't be the only bald resident."

She stretched, sliding closer to him and hitching her leg over one of his. She stayed that way for a while, listening to him breathe, enjoying the way he ran his fingers down her spine.

"I love you," he murmured, pressing another kiss to her hair.

She twisted to look at him, disappointed when she could only see a vague outline of his face in the darkness. She propped herself up, leaning in to kiss his cheek, and his jaw, and then his neck. "Goodnight," she whispered, sliding off and turning the other way. He turned on his side, his chest pressed to her back, and wrapped his arms over her torso.

He was warm, and she was safe, and somehow she forgot about the merger.


	8. Whole

**Season 6, Episode 4: Tainted Obligation.**

_**August 14, 2009.**_

Cristina leaned against the elevator buttons, wiping tears roughly from her cheeks. She was so sick of crying; before she'd come to this program she hadn't cried in years, but now something got to her on a daily basis. It wasn't the patients dying, or the embarrassment of being tricked by three attendings – one of them her boyfriend – into a less-than-desirable surgery, it was the thought of wasting all of this time, and falling behind, and becoming something she'd never wanted to be. It was the loneliness of being so different that no one understood her frustration; she couldn't explain to people that she needed surgery like she needed to breathe. She needed it for happiness, for joy, for fulfillment – she needed it like they needed drama and commitment. It was her place in the world, her purpose, her calling, and without it she was just a ghost in that hospital.

The elevator must've come and gone at least six times before she decided she should get on. She was turning to board when she noticed Owen coming up to the doors. He looked grim, but he smiled reflexively when he saw her standing there. His eyebrows drew down and he put his arm around her shoulder, leading her inside.

When they came to the door neither of them seemed to want to open it. They both had their keys out, and they fiddled with them, leaning on either side of the door frame, but they didn't go for the lock. Owen was the first to speak, his eyes on the ground. "I lost a patient today – a patient that could've lived a little while longer if I hadn't tried to operate on him."

She watched him, waiting.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I took Stevens' advice, and I shouldn't have… I knew that it was too risky, and yet I… I gave her an allowance because of her condition… and a patient died because I made the wrong call." He shook his head, sighing heavily. "I had to tell his wife. She just sank… she just sank down into the chair like I'd shot her."

For a moment he stood there, staring at the floor, his hand sticking out where he'd paused in the middle of his story. He was big on gestures. She looked down at her keys, running her finger over the serrated edge. "I told the Chief to cut me."

His eyes shot up. "What? Why?"

"I don't have a teacher," she explained, shrugging. "I'm treading water, and I can't do that. It sucks. It's not why I joined this program."

"Someone will come along-"

"You don't get it," she cut in. "I need to learn… I need to get better… it's who I am."

"You snore a little."

She looked at his face, baffled. "What?"

"You snore a little," he repeated, stepping closer and leaning against the door. "You dance around in your underwear almost every morning, and you mix cereals, even the fruity and the chocolate ones, which I personally think is disgusting."

He leaned over her, his face inches from hers, his voice lowering into a sweet, quiet whisper. "You hate musicals with a passion, even the cute ones from the fifties, and every time you hear a potato chip bag crumble you literally come running." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "And you're gorgeous, and brilliant, and I love you."

She smiled, her eyes rolling shut. "What's your point?"

"You are much more than a surgeon. You're a person, a whole person." He rested one hand on her cheek, smiling at her. His palm was warm. He ran his thumb under her eye and she leaned into him, completely falling for his sappy style of romance.

He leaned in to kiss her, but Callie shoved her way between them to open the door.

"Geez, get a room you two. Other people live in this building."

Cristina laughed and followed her inside, tugging Owen along by his wrist. It was cold and dark, but she navigated the furniture perfectly to her bedroom. Once she'd closed the door and cut the light on, Owen dove in to kiss her, but she evaded him, laughing. "Oh, no, that's not happening tonight. You tricked me into operating on old man penis."

He grinned, crossing his arms. "So you're punishing me?"

"I'm teaching you a lesson – when you have the opportunity to side _with_ your girlfriend, you know, the one who gives you sex, you should really take it."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"God, no, the heat's out again."

He pulled her closer, wrapping her up in a hug. She couldn't help a smile when he put his cold hands up her shirt. She careened away, but his arm was locked around her shoulders. "I thought I was supposed to keep you warm," he teased, laughing. "Come on – don't resist all the _love_."

"Oh, god, you smell! Did you _run_ home?"

"That's my love for you, baby."

She slipped through his arms, retreating to the other side of the bed. She held up her hand, giggling. "Shut up. I changed my mind, you can leave."

"But I have to keep you warm," he objected, running to cut off her path to the bathroom.

She rolled over the top of the bed, arming herself with her pager. "I will use this."

He leaned over the comforter, spreading his hands on it and ruffling it up. He smiled at her. "Okay, okay, I give up. No more love stuff. Just come here."

She tossed the pager back onto the night table and kneed her way onto the bed, laughing when he pulled her into his arms. She could hear his heart beating excitedly through his scrubs. "If the chief is gonna cut anyone, it's not gonna be you. You are spectacular."

"You're just saying that because-"

He pulled her back, capturing her face in his hands. He kissed her, cutting off her words, and smiled against her lips. "I'm saying that because it's true."

She dislodged herself from his hold, falling back dramatically across the bed. She stretched her arms out over her head, sighing. "Go take a shower, Romeo."

He backed off, winking, and then disappeared into the bathroom. Cristina rolled onto her stomach, letting her face fall into the blankets. She felt better, though the uncertainty, the anxiety about treading water as a surgeon, remained. It was muted now that she was home. Owen was her mute button. She didn't know how she would have fared if he wasn't in her life.


	9. Fear

**Season 6, Episode 19: Sympathy for the Parents.**

_**March of 2010.**_

"You're scared of me?"

She kept her eyes on the ground. She didn't want this to happen. She didn't want to be standing here, too afraid to look him in the eye and talk to him. She had felt it the whole week – this aggression toward her that had been building since that patient had requested a physician's assisted suicide. He hadn't been sleeping or communicating with her, except to berate her for the simplest things, like leaving the bathroom light on. She had tolerated it, hoping he would listen when she told him to return to therapy, but she hadn't expected _this_.

He had turned on her, every muscle in his torso tensed, a look of anger and frustration on his face; fear had coursed through her and she'd jumped, expecting him to hit her. She had never imagined this would happen, but as they stood there, as his question hung in the air and she stared at the ground, she realized that she was afraid of him. She was genuinely afraid of him.

She drew on what Teddy had told her that day in the scrub room and forced her eyes up. She saw confusion in him, and sadness. She spoke as firmly as she could. "I don't want to be."

He stared at her, and then his eyes flickered away. "I have to go back to Dr. Wyatt."

He looked crestfallen, so she reached her hand out to him. She didn't say anything about his decision, or the nagging fear in her mind. She said what she always said when she was afraid he was about to fall apart. "It's okay. It's okay."

He took her hand, nodding, and she stepped up to wrap her arms around him. He held her tightly, his hands flat on her back, and sighed heavily into her hair. He was still tense, but she held onto him anyway, swallowing her inhibitions. It was Owen, after all. He wasn't that kind of man. He wouldn't do something like that.

_But he almost did_.

She pulled out of the hug prematurely, looking around them. "I'll, uh, clean this up."

"No, it's my mess," he said, reaching over to cut off the oven. "The bread's done, if you wanted any. I… I can leave after I clean up…"

"I don't want you to leave."

She really wanted him to leave. She wanted him to go someplace else to cool off, to relieve the fear in her, to diffuse this situation before it could flare up again. She wanted a few moments to herself, no tiptoeing around him. She wanted it, but she couldn't send him away. She didn't want him to be alone with that distressed look on his face. He was vulnerable and she couldn't be selfish right now.

She didn't know if he realized what she was thinking, but his voice was soft, almost inaudible. "I'm gonna go back to the hospital for a while."

She crossed her arms, nodding, and backed out of the kitchen. She went to her bedroom and tried to focus on the newest edition of Cardiac Medicine, her favorite publication, but she found herself listening to him work. She flinched when he slammed something else into the sink. She heard him curse, frustrated, but he went on cleaning for the better part of an hour. When he finally left he shut the door quietly, and locked the deadbolt from outside.

She went back into the kitchen, finding a shattered plate in the trash. She drifted around the living room for a while, distracting herself by moving around the throw blankets, but when she heard Callie coming down the hallway she retreated to her bedroom once more.

Callie came to her door. She heard her hesitate outside, and then she knocked softly.

"What?" Cristina growled.

Her friend cleared her throat. "So, uh, what happened tonight?"

"Nothing happened."

"I heard him-"

"You didn't hear anything." Cristina jumped up, opening the door a crack to glare at Callie. She had that annoying look of worry on her face. She may have been the most screwed up person that Cristina knew, but she was also the most _human_.

Callie cocked an eyebrow. "I found one of our plates in the trash, so, yeah, I'm pretty sure I heard Owen go all 'hulk smash' on it. Is everything-?"

"Everything is fine," Cristina cut her off, trying to shut the door.

Callie braced her hand on the wood, keeping it open. "You know what you sound like right now, right?"

Cristina stared at her, trying to work up enough anger to slam the door in her face, but it didn't come. She knew what she sounded like. She was one of those weak women who bent under her boyfriend's will, defending him, pretending nothing had happened even when the evidence mounted against it. It must have looked very suspicious to Callie.

"Look, he didn't… do anything. He was just frustrated."

"Did you burn dinner again Ms. Robinson?"

"It's not like that," Cristina snapped. "I'm not some battered girlfriend who needs rescuing. Go to bed and mind your own business."

"You are my business," she stated.

"Callie-"

"One year ago I walked in on that man trying to choke the life out of you."

Cristina groaned. "Just go to sleep. It's not what you think. You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"Or maybe you're not making a big enough deal out of it."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm right about this one."

Callie set her jaw, and then nodded, sighing as she left the doorway. She lingered in the hall, looking toward the kitchen. "If you need me to go Machete on his ass I will."

"_Goodnight_." Cristina shut her door. She waited until she heard another door close to lay down. She faced the bathroom, lying awake for hours just listening to the hum of the apartment. She felt a warm spot in her stomach from her conversation with Callie, but it had a hard time overpowering her annoyance. She had been ready to take up arms to defend her – literally.

Owen returned around midnight. She listened to him shrug off his coat and kick off his shoes. Cold air rolled over her legs as he got into bed and the mattress groaned as he lay down beside her. He slid closer, putting his arm around her, his hand relaxing on her waist.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered.

She put her hand over his, pulling it up to her chest and holding onto it. She didn't say anything because she couldn't get her mouth to open, whether from the exhaustion, or the uncertainty.

"You know that I wouldn't…" He sighed. He brushed her hair from her neck with one hand, sitting up on his elbow to kiss her throat. She turned her head and he kissed her lips – gently, urgently. His voice was quick and insistent. "You know that I would never hurt you."

She turned into his arms, resting her forehead against his.

"I would never hurt you," he repeated, emphasizing each word. He took her hand in his and drew it to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then her palm. He pressed it to his face.

She was unsure about him. She could not shake the fear he had created in her earlier. She could not look at him without imagining that anger back on his face.

But she didn't tell him that.

She just whispered to him, stroking his face, kissing his cheek. "I know."

XxX

She woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon. She forced herself out of bed, her lip curling at the dark apartment. It wasn't even dawn yet, and someone had pulled her out of her crappy sleep by cooking. She didn't even care who it was; she was awake now and they were going to share.

She found Owen in the kitchen. He was dumping a mass of scrambled eggs onto a plate, covering up a layer of bacon. She hovered in the doorway, unsure, until he spotted her and smiled. He looked unnaturally cheery, like he was trying to make up for the disaster the night before.

"Hey. I made you some breakfast. We didn't eat last night so I thought you would be hungry."

She folded her arms across her chest, taking a seat at the island and looked down at the pile of food. It was tempting. Just seeing it sitting there, steaming, made her stomach growl audibly. Owen started pulling toast out and spreading butter on it, setting up a second plate exclusively for bread. She watched him work, dutifully stabbing the eggs when he handed her a fork. He didn't stop when the food was done – he started cleaning everything, practicing perfect manners and flashing her an endless series of grins.

He came to sit beside her when the dishes were done, leaning on his elbow and watching her eat. "I thought since we were both off, we could go to my mom's – you know, help her repaint that spare room."

She offered him a bite of the eggs, relieved when he took it. "Help me finish these first."

"Gladly. I'm starving."

Once the plate was cleaned and put away, Cristina lingered in the kitchen, watching Owen shrug on his jacket. He still had bedhead. She poured herself a glass of juice and took small sips, testing this newfound patience of his. He stopped getting ready and looked over at her, smirking.

"It's okay if you don't want to go."

"I want to go – just when the sun's up."

He looked over at the window, frowning. "Oh. I didn't realize it was so early. She won't be awake yet. Hmm." He tossed his jacket onto the couch, looking around almost comically for something else to do. His eyes came back to her. "Do you want to fool around?"

She snorted, inhaling some of her juice. It was hard to laugh and choke at the same time, but she managed it. Owen approached, smiling, and she held up her hand, breaking out her dainty peasant voice. "You're so romantic. However am I to resist?"

He took her cup from her and set it behind them, lifting her up onto the island. His hands roved and he pressed a few rough kisses to her neck. "How's this?"

She laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer. "Now we're talking."

Callie's door opened and she trudged out in her underwear, all but snarling at them. "Guys, one more sound and I swear I will bury all of our knives in your faces. Some of us actually have to work today." She took Cristina's glass of juice and retreated to her room, slamming the door.

"We could just… do Sudoku," Cristina offered, laughing.

"_Quietly_."


	10. Explain

**Explain.**

**Season 6, Episode 22: Shiny Happy People**

**April of 2010.**

"Owen, what's going on between you and Teddy?"

He groaned. "Ah, nothing. Nothing is – God." He went to the wall, placing his hand flat on it for a split second before he turned on her. His tone was not apologetic, but irritated. He was accusing her now, attacking her. "You want me to get better. I want me to get better. And I have been working. I have been working with Dr. Wyatt to eliminate my triggers-"

"So-So Teddy's a trigger?"

"Teddy… I don't know what Teddy is." He went on, his voice becoming quicker, more urgent. "Teddy, she triggers me, she confuses me. I-I-I don't know."

"Okay, well, you know what? 'I don't know' isn't working for me right now!"

"I don't know is all I've got!" he snapped. "I shouldn't have to explain myself-"

"Oh?"

He sighed. "Cristina… I don't know what I feel for Teddy. I don't know because she's all wrapped up in everything else. With men being blown apart in front of me, with Beth – so it's complicated and it is screwing with my head. That's the truth. I don't know what I feel for her but I do know what I feel for you. So yes, I told Shepherd to hire the other guy, and I shouldn't have to explain myself-"

She felt like she had been stabbed. "How – Oh…"

"I shouldn't have to explain myself so I can get myself better. I shouldn't have to explain myself to you and I damn well do not have to explain myself to Meredith Grey!"

She tried to scrape up something hurtful, something to lash out with, but she heard beeping in the stairwell below them. She leaned over the railing, wiping tears from her cheeks.

It was Teddy. She was standing there, looking baffled.

"It's uh… It's Henry Stamm," she said.

XxX

"I don't want this to end."

"I know… I know." Meredith murmured to her like a mother. Her warmth was the only thing keeping Cristina from tumbling over the edge of dramatic-crying-girlfriend again.

"He's just so… He makes me… I need to…"

"I know."

Cristina sighed, letting her eyes roll shut. "I think we're headed in the wrong direction, Mer. Today he just… he's just mad, and I don't think he knows what he's mad at. Everything. He's pissed off at the world. I don't know how to fix that."

"It's okay."

"And the way he looks at Teddy – the way he looks when he's talking about her – it doesn't make me mad it just… it hurts. I thought I was… I thought we would…"

"I know."

"You're really heavy on the two-liners tonight."

"I have an opinion on all of this, just so you know." Meredith set the floor plans for her house down, flattening them carefully over her knees. "I don't think that's what you need, though. Trust me I have plenty of names for Owen Hunt right now. But you love him."

Cristina groaned.

"You do, and that makes it hard to say anything."

"Lay it on me. I need someone else to talk. I'm tired of my voice right now."

"It is possible to have feelings for two people at the same time." Meredith folded the plans up and deposited them on her night table. She put one hand over Cristina's arm. "But it's also possible to choose. I chose. Derek chose."

"He chose his wife."

"Yeah, that sucked."

Cristina snorted, but there was sadness in her. It welled up and threatened to spill over, drowning her. "What if Owen… chooses her?"

"Then you'll still have me."

"Nothing… happened, and I already miss him. I used to think being single was so glamorous." She forced herself to sit up, scraping tears away with the front of her sweatshirt. "I'm gonna head home. I think Derek is hovering outside the door anyway."

"You can stay. Pick a room, any room."

"No… I'm going to my bed. What happens after that is still in the air."

Meredith followed her into the hall, where the husband in question was indeed hovering to get back into his bedroom. He passed them with a soft smile and rolled into bed. Cristina stopped at the front door, bracing her hand on the frame. The idea of losing him came up again and she felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

"You can stay," Meredith repeated quietly.

"Night, Mer."

She walked home at a brisk pace. She ignored most of her surroundings, almost walking out in front of a car on her street, but she made it back to her apartment building. It was well-lit inside, and she stood on the steps for a moment to search for Owen. He wasn't there.

As soon as she opened the door she knew she should have stayed at Meredith's house.

"Aloha!" Callie crowed from the couch, dipping back a bottle of cheap beer and almost rolling off of the cushions. She was clearly smashed, and she had tears glistening on her face. "Welcome to the sad lonely ex-lovers club. We have booze."

Mark was sitting on one of the barstools, stooped over the island with an aged, haunted look on his face. He sat up when Callie spoke, taking another swig of his drink, but then he slumped back down and groaned, turning his face away from her. She stepped inside, marveling at the mess the two of them had made. Empty beer bottles and a few crushed wine glasses littered the kitchen, a few throw blankets were lying across the living room floor, and the curtains were heavily slanted.

Callie stood up, wobbling over to her. "I'll clean it up later."

"I don't care," Cristina responded, dodging around her to get to her own room.

Callie stepped in the way, frowning like a drunk puppy-dog. "Are you finally gonna join our club? Because Arizona kissed me today and I need somebody else to party with. Mark is brooding."

"I'm going to bed. If you try to follow me, I'll use the flyswatter on you."

"Geez, who pissed you off? Owen? That guy is a piece of work."

"Don't… talk about him."

Cristina shut her door, leaning against it and listening to her friend stumble around the apartment. She was harassing Mark now. Cristina was glad her drunken attention span was so short. She didn't need her to remember this in the morning.

She laid diagonally across her bed, rolling herself up in the covers like a sad surgery burrito. Her phone buzzed constantly, and after the first few times she stopped checking to see who was calling. It was his face, smiling and happy, that popped up. After an hour had passed the calling stopped, and the texting began. She threw her phone into the laundry hamper, smashed a pillow down over her face, and tried to force herself to sleep.

In the dead of night, when her alarm clock read some ungodly number and the two drunk surgeons outside had long-since passed out, someone knocked on her door.

She sat straight up in bed.

"What?"

She heard him sigh. She could tell it was him by the sound of his breathing. "Cristina… are you okay? I've been calling you. I wanted to make sure-"

"I'm fine." She almost pulled the covers away. She almost went to the door, to him, and invited him into her bed. Reality came back as she woke up fully, and she remembered that she didn't want to see him. She laid back down, pulling the covers protectively to her neck.

She heard him moving around outside. "Can I come in?"

"No."

He tried the doorknob. It was locked. "Cristina…"

"Owen, go home. Go wherever it is that you go when you're not here."

"I just-"

"I don't want you here! Go away!"

"That's not fair."

"Go away."

"Please just… text me."

She was silent. She listened to him leave her room, and then she heard the apartment door opening and closing. She breathed deeply, trying to ease the tears that formed in her eyes. She wanted to go after him. Whenever she felt like this, he was the one she got lost in – but he was the reason she felt this way. He could not be her lifeline and her anchor at the same time.

So she lay in the dark, and the quiet, and thought about losing him until the sun came up again. She couldn't tell if she had slept at all.

She retrieved her phone and sat with it on the edge of her bed, looking at the picture lingering behind the lock screen. It was his face. He had sent her one last text after leaving the night before. It hovered right under his face, and she could almost hear him saying it.

_I love you. Goodnight_.


	11. Solace

**Solace.**

**Season 6, Episode 24: Death and All His Friends.**

_**Late**__**October of 2010**_**.**

It was late. She stared through one of the tall rectangular windows, not really seeing anything beyond the raindrops meandering down the glass. She knew it was late because the police station was starting to empty out. Officers were returning to their normal duties as the tragedy died down. It was quiet now. Under her eyes, that delicate layer of skin that had been tormented with tears all day, she could feel the inflammation, the irritation. She had been crying, and the bright lamp on the desk in front of her had a fresh bulb in it.

"I need you to finish the story," the detective urged. He was young, handsome, and kind – she was sure of it – but she didn't register his face. She turned toward him, but looked past him.

She readjusted herself, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She felt like her ribcage was going to fall apart if she didn't hold onto it. "Um, he left. He left the OR. He didn't come back. Meredith brought Owen over – I mean, uh, Doctor Grey brought Doctor Hunt over – and I closed, and then they came to evacuate us. We had to wait. We couldn't move Derek – er, Doctor Shepherd. He was very unstable – _is_, he is very unstable. We transferred him to the ICU after that and…"

"And then you came here."

She nodded.

"I know it's hard to think about," the detective said, closing his notebook and setting his pen down on the desk. She watched it roll until it got caught up on the notebook. He reached out to her, but then seemed to think better of it. He folded his hands together, leaning in to look at her face. "I'm very thankful that you came down here. We need as many accounts of this as we can get to clear this whole thing up… so you can start to put it behind you."

She swallowed, nodding again. She couldn't speak through the lump in her throat. She looked around, her eyes falling on some of the others who had come to give statements. Jackson was there, tucked away in a corner with two detectives, and one of the nurses from pediatrics.

Owen was standing against the far wall, near the entrance, putting on his most stoic face as he spoke quietly to the police chief. He held himself strongly, but she knew he was injured. Beneath his heavy brown leather jacket was a gunshot wound, and on the injured side his arm hung in a black splint. He was holding her coat in his other hand, shaking it around as he tried to gesture to the chief. He seemed to have made a friend, or a comrade, in the other man.

She must have had quite a look on her face. When he looked over at her, just glancing up to make sure that she was still there, his brow furrowed and he cut his conversation off mid-sentence. He walked straight to her, crouching down beside her chair and putting his hand on her knee. He winced, pained by his injury, but he gave it no attention otherwise.

He spoke to the detective, his voice cold. "Are you done?"

"Yes, um, we were just finishing up," the detective responded.

Owen stood and pulled Cristina out of her chair. He put his uninjured arm around her, holding her against his side like he was afraid someone was going to take her away. He leaned in, his voice low and sweet, a harsh contrast to how he had spoken to the detective. "Ready to go home?"

"Keep a close eye on her," the detective said, empathy in his eyes. He backed off a bit, retrieving his notebook and flipping through it. He spoke distractedly next, like he had become caught up in his notes. "Things like this have a way of setting in later."

She walked to the door, watched over like a newborn by Owen. He helped her into her coat and buttoned it for her, reaching out to stroke her cheek before he opened the door for her. She felt numb, like it could have been any other day, but at the same time her memories of the events that took place kept repeating themselves. The most disturbing part was how they were distorted. Each time she saw the gun again, heard him issuing commands, and the little details in the room shifted around. The more she grasped at it, the less she knew about it.

On the sidewalk she stopped, looking in the direction of the hospital. Owen ran his hand up and down her back and she leaned into his hold, glad for it. She didn't know if she was standing on her own power at the moment.

"We should check on Derek and Meredith," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Hey," he responded, matching her quiet tone. He tipped her head up, his fingers on her jaw. "They're fine. They're in good hands. Teddy is with them." He pressed a kiss to her forehead "I'm taking you home. Come on."

She sighed and walked with him, glad that he was making the decisions. She kept her eyes ahead, listening to the sound of her own feet on the concrete. She focused on Owen's labored breaths, and the knots in her stomach, and the memories slipping away from her with every passing second. She counted the pulse in her forehead from the migraine that ate into her gums. She looked up at every traffic light, watching the colors change.

She didn't pay attention to where they were going.

Once they were inside the apartment she felt a little more. She wasn't afraid, or devastated, or traumatized, but sort of empty. She stood in the kitchen and looked around, wondering what she had ever seen in this quiet, cold place. It had too many flat surfaces, and not enough color.

Owen helped her out of her coat and tossed it onto the couch, guiding her by her elbow into the bedroom. He turned the shower on, and as soon as she heard the water Cristina rushed toward it. She released the coils in her stomach as vomit, hanging over the toilet until the convulsions stopped. Owen slipped down beside her, holding her hair back with one hand. He was on painkillers – strong ones – and it was starting to get to him. She could see a haze in his eyes, in his expression. He was finally feeling something, too.

She couldn't get her hands to stop shaking, but she managed to rewrap Owen's arm and make sure that the staples had held. She ended up sitting up in bed with him, staring at the far wall like she was in some kind of daydream – she just let her eyes stay there, let the room spin around her.

She wanted to say something to him about what had happened, but she couldn't find the words or the energy. She was losing it already. It felt like a bad dream, like another lifetime. This day had been going on forever and they were finally at the end of it. Thunder rumbled outside and drew her attention, and she was reminded of sprinkling rain. Not a storm, not a shower. It was just a sprinkle that would bathe the hospital and wipe away this night.

"It's going to be okay," Owen murmured. He was propped up on one of her pillows, speaking through a considerable helping of painkillers, but his voice still resonated with her. "Cristina?"

"I know," she responded. She sounded strange, almost emotionless. Her words rang out coldly in their silent bedroom. She tried again, but she sounded so clinical, so far away. "He's dead. I know it's okay… I know."

He was silent for a moment, and then he tried to sit up. She stopped him, putting her hand flat on his chest, and then she curled up against him. She stared at the bandaging on his shoulder, but she had to look away when she heard that shot ringing out again. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "It's really going to be okay. I promise." He stroked her hair, and then pressed a crooked finger to her cheek. He craned his neck to see her face.

Finally he got to her. She jerked away from him, momentarily angry, and then she felt exhausted, and afraid, and useless, and helpless, all in the same second. It came upon her in a wave and her head dropped to his chest. She let out a whimper and his arm tightened around her. She focused on his warmth, his scent, and the strong, steady beating of his heart, allowing tears to roll slowly and silently down her face. She held onto him like a lifeline, bracing herself for what was coming.

She cried.

In the OR she had cried because there was a gun inches from her cheek, and her best friend's husband's heart was literally in her hands. One wrong move and everything would have come down in flames. It was an incredible event, an incredible circumstance, and it had terrified her. She had never been so afraid. She had never felt so helpless.

She was crying now because she was alive. It was strange to her, but she let it happen. She let the gratitude swell over her. Jackson had been clever enough, the shooter had been gullible enough, she had been skilled enough, and the rescuers had been quick enough to keep the people in that room alive. She was alive. She was alive and she had Owen.

He ran his hand down her cheek, catching the tears on his fingertips. He smiled at her, showing that he understood. "I've got you now," he murmured into her hair. "You are fine, and no one is going to hurt you, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you."

She gasped, but it came out as a sort of laugh. She nodded into his neck. "You're the one who got shot."

"I'm not dead."

She pulled away a little, resting on his uninjured shoulder, and put her hand on his face. His eyes were shining. His cheek was warm under her palm. She loved him like this. "I'm glad you're not dead," she whispered.

He laughed a short, sad laugh. "I'm glad you're not dead, too."

"Let's stay this way, okay? Not dead."

"I don't know, I was planning on going skydiving tomorrow."

He smiled boyishly, and she smiled back. She snuggled into his neck again, holding back another round of tears. She didn't want to cry anymore. He started whispering to her, repeating what he had said already and adding in sweet promises where he could. He only went quiet when she shut her eyes, and even then he went on stroking her hair.

"I love you," she whispered, catching his hand halfway down her head. She wrapped her fingers around her thumb and pulled his arm around her.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you."

It wasn't better, and it wasn't over, but for a few hours it felt like it was going to be okay.


	12. Descent

**A/N: Hey guys! I wanted to thank you – again – for all the awesome feedback you've been leaving. I really enjoy reading it and it helps me get motivated to keep writing. I wrote this chapter after reading a review from milee about wanting to see what happened between the shooting and the engagement. It got me thinking about how the show skips over a lot of time and a lot of conversations that had to have happened, so I created them here. This chapter moves from the beginning of season seven (the night after the marriage) to the night after Cristina collapses in the OR. I hope to get more suggestions as well. Anyways, let me get out of your face. Enjoy!**

**XxX**

**Descent.**

**Season 7, Episode 1: With You I'm Born Again.**

**July of 2010.**

"I love you. Did you know that?"

His nose wrinkled like a child's and he smiled at her. It was the most adorable expression, and the happiest, she had seen on him for a long time. "I had a feeling."

She rolled off of him, spread out on her bed with her arms stretched overhead. "Oh yeah? What gave me away? It was the wedding, wasn't it? Little too straightforward?"

He laughed. "I think you've had enough to drink."

"I'm not drunk, I'm enlightened," she objected. She was drunk. She was very, very drunk. But it seemed like such a nicer word for it. She had avoided alcohol for almost two months now, keeping herself sober for fear of sinking back into the paranoia that had, for weeks, ruled her life. She had indulged because it was her wedding night, but she had forgotten to stop refilling her glass. She was soaring above legal limits and it felt great.

Her husband – her faithful partner for about six hours now – walked around the bed and confiscated her Champaign glass. He set it on the dressed, looking down at her, amused.

"Owen, here, come here," she held out her hand and he took it, crouching down beside the bed. She sat up, pressing her lips to his ear. "I have to pee."

"I think I know how to handle that," he responded, standing and motioning to the bathroom. He helped her up and guided her to it, opening the door for her. "If you're gonna throw up, please lift the lid up this time."

"Aye, aye." She shut the door behind her, twisting the lock out of habit. She had been trying to instill a similar habit in her roommate, to no avail. She stumbled around until she came to sit on the edge of the tub. She didn't have to pee anymore, but she lingered.

She found herself in the mirror, staring at her own reflection. She looked so happy, but it was a different kind of happy. She could remember the first time she had tried to get married, the white dress, the uncontrollable sobbing when her fiancé packed up and hauled ass out of Seattle. She had expected a hitch this time, but nothing had happened. She had come down those stairs to Owen's gorgeous smile, his warmth, his love, and all of her friends had cheered for them when they kissed at the end of the officiator's dreadful speech.

It was all perfect.

Until she looked in the mirror. She saw herself standing there, a goofy smile frozen on her face, and then she wasn't alone. He was there. The gun was there. It was happening again.

She whipped around, her breath catching, her throat closing up with fear. He had been standing in her reflection, but he was gone. Suddenly the vault in her chest unlocked itself, and the flood started all over again. In one part of her mind, she knew that he was dead, and that this was just residual from the trauma. That part of her mind was not the strongest part. She was afraid again, just like she had been that day in the OR. A large part of her was convinced she was about to die, and it choked her up.

She went for the door, but she saw his reflection in the handle and recoiled, nearly falling over the toilet when it snuck up behind her. He was there in the faucet, and in the mirror again, and in the shiny metal drain of the sink. She had to shut her eyes to block it out, to force herself to stand still so she didn't destroy something, or injure herself.

"Cristina?"

Owen was banging furiously on the door, wrenching the knob back and forth as he tried to get in. She stayed where she was, reaching for the wall with a trembling hand, trying to ground herself. _He is dead. He is gone. There is no one in here. You are alone._

Finally the door gave way under his assault. It banged into the wall, startling her. She opened her eyes, and for a moment Owen just stood there, staring at her, wild-eyed and unsure.

"What happened?" he demanded. "I heard you screaming."

"I wasn't screaming," Cristina choked out_. Was I?_

He stepped closer, holding out a hand for her. "Cristina…"

"Stop." She jumped back, almost falling over the toilet again. She held up her hand and backed around it, tucking herself into the corner. She was still having trouble controlling her breathing, and her memories from the shooting were coming back with vicious clarity. She wasn't sure if she was really here, or if she had fallen asleep on that bed, and she was having a nightmare.

He stopped in the middle of the bathroom, still holding out his hand, his eyebrows pulling down. "Cristina, you're having a panic attack. Just come here. Let me help you."

"I know what it is," she snapped.

"Then you know that you're being irrational. Whatever you see, whatever you think you see, it isn't real. There is no one here. No one is going to hurt you." He took another step toward her. "Come here. Come to me."

She saw the gun. She heard it click. She forced herself to stay calm in the face of it. She forced herself to breathe. Her head began to clear, but her hands were shaking.

He came a bit closer. "That's it. Deep breaths. Do you remember when you found me in that exam room? Do you remember how scared I was?"

She nodded, bracing her hand on the toilet to keep herself upright.

"What did you do?"

She shook her head. "I can't-"

"Cristina, what did you do when I was scared?"

"I-I hugged you."

"Right." He made it to the toilet, putting his hand on her arm and pulling her around it. He was stronger than her, and he certainly could have dragged her out of there, but his touch was gentle and insistent. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her like she had held him.

He backed them into the bedroom, pulling the bathroom door shut behind them. She looked back at it – just an innocuous piece of wood – and the panic began to ebb away.

"What did you see?" he whispered.

"I… uh, nothing."_ He came for me. It was all in my head… but it was so real. Owen… I think I need help. I think I need… _"Nothing. It was a spider."

"Was it a spider or was it nothing?"

"Spider. It was a spider."

"You're not afraid of spiders."

"Big one." She pulled out of his grasp, swallowing hard. She glanced at the bathroom door, and then went back to the bed. She curled up on the edge of it. She stared at the bottom of the night table. "It was a big spider."

"Big enough to scare you sober?" He sounded doubtful, and concerned. He lay beside her, putting his arms around her and kissing her shoulder. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

"I'm fine."

"I just-"

"Owen, just drop it. It was nothing." She turned into his arms, kissing him, hoping to distract him from what had just happened. "It's our wedding night. We should be celebrating."

"But-"

"Please." She didn't know what he saw in her face, or what she sounded like at the moment. Her head was full of thoughts, of memories, of emotions. She could have looked terrified, or drunk, or even angry. Whatever it was, he responded to it with a kiss, and she let herself get lost in him.

She was married. She had Owen. Everything was going to be fine.

Wasn't it?

XxX

**Season 7, Episode 2: Shock to the System.**

**August of 2010.**

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He sat on her side of the bed. He was still wearing his shoes, and his big brown jacket, and a look of determination. He wanted to grab her and carry her out of a burning building. He wanted to sew her up and fix this hole opening up in her chest. She could see how difficult this was for him – doing nothing. He wanted to take action, to help her, but he didn't know how to make it better. He was pacing on the sidelines.

She shifted, drawing her legs tighter to her chest. She was sitting up against the headboard, her eyes on the blankets that ruffled under him. "I… can't talk about it," she elaborated.

He nodded, staring at the carpet. "Okay."

His words back at the house kept going through her head._ I'm not going anywhere, Cristina. I'm not going anywhere without you_. He had really meant it. He was resolved to sit there all night if he had to. She could see it in him, and she admired it.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked up, flashing a brief, sad smile. "It's not your fault."

"I don't mean… the OR thing. I mean, I'm sorry that you're sad, or angry, or whatever you are right now. I'm sorry I can't… say what you want me to say."

He scooted closer to her, holding onto her shoulders. His thumbs glided over her skin and his expression melted into something much sweeter. His voice was disarming. "I don't want you to say anything. I just need… I want you to be okay."

"So do I."

"We should form a club," he responded. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the end of the bed, kicking off his shoes. "Come on. Come here."

She laid in his arms for a while, so long that she lost track of time. It must have been the middle of the night when the rain intensified. It stirred her from a trance. She felt calmer and safer than she had for this entire crappy day, but the fear lingered. She knew a cruel breed of terror. It stayed with her, haunting her, threatening her, even when it was all over.

Owen seemed to notice her eyes open. He kissed the top of her head. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She jumped violently when thunder erupted outside. It sounded like a gunshot, so loud and sudden that the terror renewed itself. Owen barely stirred at the sound of it, but his arms locked around her, preventing her from going very far. He breathed evenly. "It's just thunder."

"I know that."

"You're shaking."

"I _know_ that."

She controlled her breathing, shutting the fear away. She was nowhere near the OR, and nowhere near a gun. She knew that she was fine. It took her body a lot longer than her brain to understand that. She leaned up and kissed Owen's jaw, trying to distract herself.

"I love you," he murmured. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but it might be good for you. It might help you. I could call Dr. Wyatt-"

"It… hurts."

"What does?" His arms loosened and he drew back to look at her face, framing it with his hands.

"It hurts to talk about it." She wrapped her hands over his. "If you… make me talk about it, it hurts. Please just… don't."

She could see that he was torn. She knew what she was doing to him. He was her biggest supporter, her most avid defender, her greatest champion, and she was asking him to step down. She could see the logic in his words, the symmetry between their situations, but there was no room for that logic in her mind. It was apparent to her, and lost on her, at the same time. She was afraid, and embarrassed, and the only thing she wanted to do was forget about it.

He relented at last, though he was reluctant. He pulled her back into his hold and sighed. "Okay… Okay. I won't bring it up again. I promise."


	13. Hideaway

**Hideaway.**

**Season 7, Episode 8: Something's Gotta Give.**

**November of 2010.**

"So you're just going to unpack boxes today?"

Cristina forced herself to stand, shivering when her calves hit the cold air. She reached down to un-bunch her sweatpants. "I think we have too much stuff. No normal person has this much stuff. I mean, clothes, sure, and scrubs and blood pressure cuffs, but this is ridiculous. Do you really _need_ that surfboard from the summer of whatever? We live in Washington."

"It's from the last summer I spent with my dad, but yes, we could probably stand to get rid of some of this stuff. Like maybe your endless collection of indie pop music."

"Okay the surfboard and the CD's are safe, but that whole corner is uncharted territory," she turned, encompassing the right wall of their bedroom with both hands. She frowned, counting the boxes that were stacked up. "Geez, we're hoarders. We are definitely hoarders."

He tugged off his shirt and came around to her side of the bed, retrieving a set of scrubs from the stack of clothes on the side table. "Not totally uncharted – some of those in the corner are from my mom. Dishes, remember?"

"Oh yeah, the snowman ones?"

"And the farm scenes."

"At what point does antique become unnecessary?"

"They were my grandmother's – all of them were hand painted at the turn of the century."

"She was a hoarder, too. We all keep way too much crap." She wove through the jungle of boxes, popping some open to get a peek inside. "Dish towels, washcloths – ugh, my 'classy' sweatpants. Why do I still have these? These should be burned. I'm gonna burn these."

Owen appeared behind her. He set his coat on the boxes and started unfolding his scrub top. Her eyes got caught on the pink scar on his shoulder – the only physical remnant the two of them had from the shooting. Seeing it caught her off guard and she looked away from him.

"What?" he leaned back into her view, smiling a little. "Hey, don't burn the house down, okay? I'll help you unpack everything when I get off."

"Would burning a firehouse down be ironic, or in bad taste?"

"Both."

She nodded, looking at the floor. She dreaded this part of the morning. She hated to be alone, even during the day. Owen had been avoiding the night shift specifically so they could sleep together at night; so he could be there when she stirred from nightmares. During the day it was a different kind of loneliness. It was a slow building dread that didn't resolve itself until she saw him again.

He noticed her reservation and stepped closer, drawing her face up with his hands. "Listen, I'll be back before you know it. Hold down the fort."

She shrugged, slipping back into the box maze. She pretended to sort out his mother's dish towels until she could no longer hear him on the stairs. She unpacked for a while, thinking about the things she was trying not to think about; it was so quiet she could almost hear the mice running around in the floorboards.

She had a towel in her hand, looking at it without seeing it, when it occurred to her that she didn't want to do this. She was just doing it to have something to do.

She looked over at the kitchen – or what could possibly be a kitchen someday – and lingered on the wine bottles that still lingered from their wedding. She could use that warm buzz. But she also knew she was prone to making bad decisions while she was drunk. She was pretty likely to burn the house down. Instead she went for her mp3 player, hoping to distract herself.

XxX

Owen trudged downstairs one last time, showing the last of his drunken guests to the door. It was a radiology nurse who was convinced he was going to drive to the beach that night; his girlfriend gave him a frustrated look as she beckoned him into their car. Owen watched them drive off, hanging in the doorframe, before he pulled the ropes from the doorknobs and slammed them shut. He locked the deadbolts, checked them with a hard tug, and then turned to make the journey back up to the main floor of his home.

He stopped when he found Derek coming down.

"Oh, hey," Derek said as he reached the bottom. Owen was convinced he hadn't seen him all night, and he didn't look like he'd been drinking. "I was on the roof," the neurosurgeon explained, smiling good-naturedly. "With your wife, actually. Talking about flooring."

Owen looked up, relieved by that. "Is she okay?"

Earlier that afternoon she had sent out a mysterious text announcing a house-warming party, but she hadn't responded when he'd tried to contact her. When he'd come home she was nowhere to be found and no one had seen her. He was beginning to think she'd fled the country.

"She's fine – relatively speaking." Derek clasped him on the shoulder. His eyes had a certain empathy in them, like he knew exactly how Owen felt. It was a little unnerving. "I think she's gonna be fine." He glanced at the stairs, and then up at the roof, as if he could see her up there. "I feel like I should warn you, though – she wants to replace the original floors."

"We can't have that," Owen said, chuckling. He stepped back to unlock one of the doors, exchanging his goodnights with Derek and securing the house for the night.

He jogged back up the stairs, stopping at the top to get a look at his house without partygoers. It was much warmer than it had been when he'd left that morning – furniture, carpets, and curtains filled up the space that had been occupied by boxes and broken chunks of wall. The kitchen, or what was quickly morphing into a kitchen, had an oven, a dishwasher, and a brand new fridge, and the living room had real living room furniture, not just a stool and a pile of laundry.

He went to the back, past the kitchen, where another narrow staircase led up to the roof. He found her sitting at the ancient metal table firefighters had used to play cards, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, her eyes on the city.

He wasn't quiet, but she didn't seem to notice him. She was looking at the lights, which played out across the horizon like a holiday card. People and vehicles writhed along the streets and lights popped on and were snuffed out on this bitterly cold night. She was deep in thought, and unbothered by the chill in the air.

Owen hovered at the top of the steps, clearing his throat. "Hey."

She looked back at him slowly, her expression sad and weighted. "Oh, hey, sorry I didn't socialize. I thought – well, Derek told me they were going to ambush me so I just… stayed up here."

"It's fine, that's fine."

"I just don't want… to talk about it."

"I know."

She sighed heavily. "So can we not… talk about it?"

He nodded. "Come downstairs. It's freezing out here."

"Are they gone?"

"Yeah. Everybody had a good time. The house is beautiful." He walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders. She was shivering. She leaned her head into his stomach and put her hand over his. "You did good," he murmured.

She shifted in her chair. Her voice was high and spacey. "I guess I never thought about it before today – other careers, other lifestyles. I saw these people in the mall, just doing mall stuff, not a care in the world. No tests to study for, no patients to keep alive. It was like they lived in slow motion, and they were totally okay with it."

He stepped to her side, crouching down and folding his hands on her knee to keep his balance. He listened intently to her words, not because he was interested in the way that mall people lived, but because he was worried about her. She spoke like she was holding something big back, but her voice was also so fragile – _she_ was so fragile – that he didn't want to drag it out of her. She had quit her residency and fled from her trauma, and she wasn't talking about it. He wanted so badly to listen to _that_ narrative, instead of this one. This was filler. Both of them knew it.

"I love you," he murmured, cutting her off in the middle of a story about a woman and a pretzel. He leaned up to kiss her cheek. "I love you, and if you think you should become a mall person, then I'll support that."

She looked at the ground, and then at him, her face grim. "I'm not going back to the hospital."

"You don't have to."

"I mean it."

"I know, I know." He caught a desperation in her voice, and he tried to soothe it. "I'm not going to push it. I won't even bring it up. I want you to do what makes you happy, okay?"

She nodded, hesitant.

"It's freezing out here."

She shrugged.

"Do you want to go downstairs?"

She looked at the city again, sighing. "N-Not yet."

"Okay, that's okay." He stood, ignoring a tinge of pain in his back, and sat in the chair across from her. He waited, hands on the table. "We can go when you're ready."

He watched the way the city lights played across her face. She was so beautiful, in this light and in any other, but there was a permanent frown on her lips. It came back whenever she wasn't smiling – her new resting expression – and he hated it. It betrayed how sad she was, how lost she had become in such a short time. He found himself feeling sadder as well, as he imagined what might be going through her head. He could remember the horrors of his own trauma clearly every day, all the time. He didn't want that for her. He just wanted her to be better.

She sat silently for the better part of an hour, just staring out at the city. It was reflected wholly in her dark eyes. When she spoke again her voice was low and shaky, and he couldn't tell if she was trembling because of the cold, or because of the topic.

"I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, when I think about operating. I just imagine it, I try to imagine doing it, and I feel like my throat is closing up." She stroked her throat with one hand, looking at him with tears in her eyes. "I can't figure out how to get past that – I can't make myself _breathe_, I can't fix that. I just… I just feel like I can't breathe. I can't… even think about it."

He left his chair, crouching in front of her again and taking her hands. She was gasping for air, like she was suffocating. She was beginning to panic. He squeezed her hands, taking her pulse with his thumbs, and kept his expression placid. "Think about my mom's antique plates."

Her brow furled. "W-W-What?"

"The plates," he said. "I think she sent us over a hundred plates. Where are we going to put them? I didn't see a china cabinet in there."

"W-W-We should get one."

"Cherry?"

"A-A-Are you crazy? Costco. I m-m-may have run out of credit cards buying t-t-that stuff."

He smiled. "What if it tilts?"

She took her first easy breath, shutting her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "We have plate holders somewhere." She slid out of the chair, her arms out, and he caught her in his arms. She attached herself to his neck, holding onto him tightly. "Meredith has one at her house that she's not using. You can ask her for it at work… early Christmas present."

"You're Jewish."

"It can be my final Hanukkah present."

He chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. "Let's go downstairs."

She nodded into his neck. "Okay… okay… are you sure they're all gone?"

"They're gone. It's just you and me."

Her arms tightened, and then she let him go. "Let's go then. I can give you the grand tour."

He helped her up, holding her shoulders to make sure she was steady. She looked out at the city again, taking a deep breath. He stepped toward the staircase, but stopped when she didn't move. He waited patiently, fascinated by the little changes in her expression.

"Owen."

"Yes?"

She looked over, surprised, as if she didn't expect him to be standing there. She walked past him, to the staircase, and descended a few steps. When she glanced up again her eyes were more reserved. She was shut off to him. "Nothing."

He followed, his heart a little heavier. She was so afraid. But it couldn't last forever. She would find her way out of this. She had to.

Everything was going to be fine.


	14. Clarity

**Sobering.**

**Season 7, Episode 9: Slow Night, So Long**

**November of 2010**

She seemed so peaceful, and, looking at her now, he could easily forget the insanity she had been a part of that day. He could forget walking into the bar and finding her straddling someone, and he could forget how much it had stung when she had called him her boyfriend, rather than her husband. He could forget whatever anger he'd managed to work up as he carried her to his truck, and deposited her in their bed. He could overlook the frustration as he held her hair and she vomited endlessly into their toilet. He could let it all go – like desert sand rolling through his fingers – because she was here now, and she was safe, and she seemed so peaceful.

He stroked her hair back, running the washcloth over her mouth again. She was sweating, but it was only the detox getting to her. She had been drinking all day and her body was getting rid of it in violent waves. She stirred a little at the touch, her lips pressing into a frown, her forehead pinching, but then she relaxed again, and her fist balled into his shirt, and she snuggled her face up into his neck.

He smiled down at her. His little jigsaw puzzle. She was hurt right now, lost, even directionless, but he couldn't imagine her anywhere else. She was damaged, but right now she was safe. She could heal. He would make sure she did.

Her eyes opened again only twenty minutes after she had fallen asleep. She sat up a little, as if coming out of a falling dream, and then she slumped back against him and curled her toes against his leg. She sighed contently. "I think the best part of being really, really, really drunk is having you take care of me. I own a giant ginger teddy bear."

He kissed her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Crappy." She shifted, looking up at him. She was like a child, wide-eyed, innocent, and open. It was a rare, but appealing look for her. "I'm sorry I gave that guy a lap dance."

"You didn't know what you were doing."

"But I remember it, so," she pointed a thumb at herself, smiling wryly, "Guilty." She twisted around, so she was laying sideways against him. Her head rested on the crook of his shoulder. She pulled his arm across her stomach and ran her fingers over his knuckles. "I got fired."

"I gathered."

She sighed heavily. "I suck at not being a doctor. I suck at being a wife. I just _suck_."

"You don't suck at anything – except maybe bartending." He pulled the hem of her nightshirt up, making small circles on her stomach with his index finger. "Go back to sleep."

"You go back to sleep. I'm not even tired."

She was out within ten minutes of saying that, falling back under the pull of alcohol. He stretched his legs, groaning, and tried to get some rest himself, but his mind kept him up. It was nagging him, stirring him, forcing him to think about the things he had been putting off.

What was she going to do when she woke up?

He had suggested she get a job because she spent three days fusing with their couch. He didn't want her to regress to that, but he didn't think she could handle any other type of profession. She was a challenging person – she was made to be a surgeon, but that was not an option. He had to find something to keep her from sinking down any further.

He retrieved his phone from the side table and flipped through his contacts. He had very few people in his life that he trusted, and Cristina was an antisocial hermit outside of the hospital. The only ones he could think to call were either on her naughty list at the moment, or on his.

Derek.

His name came up near the end because Owen had him listed as his last name only. He was tied closely with Meredith, and he had known Cristina just as long. He was an ally – the one who had watched over Cristina in the bar that night – and Owen trust him. He wasn't sure how Cristina felt about him, but it couldn't be too bad. She didn't have a dartboard with his face on it.

He sent him a text, short and to the point, asking for advice on how to direct Cristina. He didn't detail it because he knew that Derek understood the situation – _how_ he understood it was a different matter entirely.

He laid the phone down before Derek responded, unable to keep his eyes open for much longer. He had worked through the night and he was exhausted. He knew the problem had to be resolved, but a few hours of sleep would make it so much easier. He wrapped his other arm around Cristina, his thumb on her wrist, and drifted off to the beat of her pulse.

XxX

**Clarity.**

**Season 7, Episode 11: Disarm**

**January of 2011.**

Owen walked from the couch to the top of the stairs, wearing a pattern into the floor. She should have been home already. He feared the worst – that she was curled up on the floor of the OR, or dead in the road somewhere, or halfway to Canada – but he tried to convince himself of the best. She was finally better, and she was doing what she always did. She had just stayed to chatter with Teddy about how brilliant they both were during the surgery. She had walked out of that OR with a new outlook on life. She was better. She was whole again.

He wanted that to be true. He wanted it more than anything.

She came up a few hours after her shift ended, bouncing on the stairs like a kid with a couple thousand pixie sticks. She embraced him at the top, smiling, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. When she pulled away he marveled at her face. It was free of shadows, free of fear. She wasn't holding anything back. She was radiant.

"H-How do you feel?" Owen asked, staying on the side of caution. He didn't want to push it. He wanted this happiness to remain for as long as possible.

She grinned at him. "I feel… liberated. I feel like I got in a pool, and then I got out and stayed in the sun for a while and dried out like a little prune, and then I got back in and it was glorious! I stayed for a valve adjustment with Teddy and I didn't freak out at all. I was fine. It was fine."

He hugged her. It was all he could do at the moment. "I'm so proud of you."

"I think this is over now," Cristina said, drawing out of his hold. She danced around the living room and then flopped onto the couch, groaning. "I think I'm over it now."

"It takes time – to heal," Owen reminded her.

"It was like that for you, but I don't think it's like that for me." She looked at him over the back of the couch, her expression calming. "It was a wall in my head – I could feel it. It's gone now."

"Just take it slow, okay?"

"I will." Her response was mature and thoughtful, but as soon as the words left her mouth she gave him a mischievous, childish smile. "Now come over here and help me celebrate."

XxX

**Confide.**

**Season 7, Episode 15: Golden Hour**

**February of 2011.**

"I think you should just cut this tree down. It's a lost cause."

Evelyn leaned around the tree, touching its branches fondly. "It has lived on this lawn for longer than I have – and that's saying something. You know Owen used to wrap these lights when he was little. It was his favorite thing to do on the holidays, because he got to use his father's ladder to go all the way to the top. One year he fell off and broke his arm in three places, but he came right home from the hospital and finished stringing the lights."

Cristina walked around the tree, eyeing the unsteady stepladder Evelyn was using the reach some of the higher branches. Whenever she tugged at the wires, the ladder wiggled a little. "Maybe we should wait for Owen to get here."

"He insists on doing everything himself," Evelyn said, brushing the notion off with a flick of her wrist. She pulled the last string free and handed it down to Cristina. "Besides, I thought I might get a little alone time with my daughter-in-law. You two are always working."

"Lots of dying people."

Evelyn snorted. "I understand the workload. I served in Vietnam, you know."

"I didn't know that," Cristina said, dropping the lights in the pile they had created at the base of the tree. She held her hand out as Evelyn came down the stepladder, but the solid old woman didn't take her help. She came down on her own and gathered up the lights, carrying them onto the front porch and setting them down. Cristina followed her.

Evelyn retrieved the lemonade from inside, setting it on the rails and pouring a glass for each of them. She looked at the tree while she drank. "I rode in on a clunky boat with a platoon of nurses. It was the dead of night when we made landfall. They made the women go last, so I didn't step on any of the landmines that dotted the beach. Most of them died within a few minutes."

Cristina swallowed. War stories must've run in the family for Owen. "How did you survive?"

"You have to walk on the bodies," Evelyn said nonchalantly, sipping from her glass. She looked out at the lawn now, making a sour face as she swallowed. "How is work going, darling?"

Owen must have blabbed to her. "Uh… good. It's fine."

"I've seen my fair share of war wounds, and-"

"I wasn't _in_ a war."

"The hell you weren't," she responded with fire, but her tone dimmed a bit. She took another sip. "Listen. War is a big word. It means a lot of things. It means surviving crazy parents, or running across a battlefield, or raising kids – having someone put a gun in your face is more than most people experience in this country."

"You watch too much news."

"Well, that may be true, but you can trust me on this. I know where you are right now. I know where Owen was when you brought him to my doorstep two years ago. I want to know how you are – how you _really _are."

Cristina leaned against the railing, finally relenting and downing her entire drink. She let Evelyn refill it, but she let it sit in her hands, gathering condensation as the warmth of her skin spread onto the glass. She waited to see if the old woman would give in, but she had a stern, demanding look on her face, and she didn't seem inclined to throw up a white flag. She reminded Cristina of her own mother, only a little less annoying and a little more understanding.

"I still feel… afraid sometimes." Five words. She nearly choked on them. She didn't know why she had said it, or what had made her trust this woman, but she couldn't take it back.

Evelyn hummed thoughtfully, taking her time with her response. She spoke softly, gently, like Owen did, and Cristina realized that she trusted Evelyn because of her son. She saw where he got his personality from, where his empathy, his compassion, had originated.

"I don't know if Owen ever told you about his father. He died a long time ago – Owen was just a boy, barely ten. He was an engineer in the Air Force, smart as a whip and convinced he could find the secrets to life in the clouds." She gazed up, a smile cutting through the solemn look on her face. "When he came home he was always anxious. He was always afraid, whether it was the things he had seen, or the things he dreamt about. He would take Owen away for weeks at a time, out into the wilderness, and when they came back he was happy again. Owen was his sunshine. When I saw my son that day… when you brought him to me… I saw his father for a split second before I realized it was my boy. It broke my heart."

Cristina looked away as a tear rolled down the old woman's face. She was uncomfortable with her sadness, but fascinated with the story. She found herself picturing young Owen again, watching him sprint across the yard, or shove an old push mower through the grass.

"I came back because of Harry, and Harry came back because of Owen," Evelyn said, pressing her lips together. She put one arm around Cristina's shoulders and squeezed. "And Owen came back because of you. You won't be afraid forever. We'll always drag you back."

Cristina didn't know what to say to her. She was saved when a light blue truck pulled in front of the house and Owen hopped out. She went out to meet him while his mother poured another glass of lemonade.

"Sorry I'm late, I got caught up at work," Owen said. He stopped where they met in the middle of the yard, brushing a strand of her hair back with his fingers. He smiled. "What are you guys up to? Plotting world domination?"

"Among other things. Come on." She led him by his hand, stopping in the doorway. She leaned up to kiss him, and then she patted his head. "We're on break. You get to wind up the lights."

"We can just buy new lights."

"Well, that would be wasteful."

Evelyn walked through the doorway, sliding past both of them. She smiled at her son, giving him a patronizing smile. "You better get started, dear. It'll be dark soon."


	15. Persuasion

**Persuasion.**

**Season 7, Episode 20: White Wedding.**

_**May 18**__**th**__**, 2011**_

Cristina dragged herself up the stairs, losing most of her clothing before she made it to the top. She had come home from the wedding with Owen, but Meredith had called the moment the car was in park. She had chattered happily about adopting one of the orphans Alex had brought to the hospital, and Cristina had listened dutifully, keeping her opinion to herself. Meredith sounded shiny and new, like a polished mama doll, and Cristina didn't want to spoil it for her. Owen had gone into the house without her, a patient smile melting into the night as the doors closed behind him.

He was lying across the bed now, his suit in several pieces on the trunk. He was splayed out, limbs in weird positions, shirtless, in the stethoscope boxers she'd gotten him as a gag present for Christmas. She stood still for a moment to admire him before she went into the bathroom.

She went through her nighttime ritual, keeping the volume down so she didn't wake him. He had a surgery bright and early the next morning. When she finally made it to the bed, anticipating curling up and sinking blissfully into darkness, she realized that he was taking up both of their sides. She was too lazy to move him, and too compassionate to wake him and force him to roll over, so she crawled beside him, dragged a throw blanket up, and curled into his chest. He was warm and he smelled wonderful – a sweet mixture of the flowers at the wedding, the just-rained smell from outside, and that oaky smell he always wore.

He stirred after a few moments, a delayed reaction to the contact. He brought his arm up around her body, his hand tracing the contours of her hip. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her, his voice laced with childish wonder. "You're here."

She smiled back, leaning up to kiss him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He craned his neck a little, looking down her body. "I really like that shirt on you."

"I know."

"Because it's just long enough that you don't have to wear panties."

"Go to sleep."

"Seriously, you naked under that?"

She laughed. "You need sleep. You have surgery in the morning."

"Sex is a stress reliever." His hand slid up her body, moving the shirt with it. He drew in a hard breath. "I am just… so stressed."

She swatted his hand, "Stop feeling me up and go to sleep. I'm not in the mood."

He sighed, his hand moving back to her hip. She hitched her leg over his, pulling herself closer to his side, and ran her hand up and down his chest.

"But you're feeling me up."

She was silent for a moment. "I like your chest," she responded shortly, running her hand over his stomach. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, making him shudder. She felt his jaw clench above her head. "Mmm," she purred, kissing the base of his neck, and then rolling her head back to look at him. She captured him in her gaze. "Maybe I am in the mood after all."

"You're a little minx is what you are," he responded, sitting up and lifting her into his lap. She laughed and he captured her in a rough kiss.

XxX

"I love you."

"It doesn't count when you say it after sex."

"But it's true," he insisted, leaning down to kiss her temple. He had a look of attachment in his eyes, something not uncommon on his face. She loved that look. It made everything better just to see him smile like that.

"If you want to prove your love, go make me a sandwich."

"You can't seriously be thinking about food."

"I just expended a lot of energy," she objected.

"I seem to recall doing all the work."

She slid onto his chest, resting her arm in the crook of his neck and running her toes down his leg. "Yeah but I'm the pretty one."

He grinned, brushing her hair back.

"Come on… sandwich me," she whined.

"I have one condition."

She cocked an eyebrow.

He pulled an adorable smile out of his arsenal. "Lunch tomorrow with my mom."

She groaned and rolled over, facing the wall. She was lying on his arm, so she started playing with his arm hairs to distract herself. She almost had a perfect braid going when he rolled toward her and ran his hand up her side. It gave her butterflies that she tried to ignore.

"Come on, just for an hour. It'll make her happy."

"The sandwich isn't worth it."

"Cristina… please?"

"Make me chief resident."

"You know I can't-"

"I guess your mom is eating alone."

"Come on. I'm begging."

She rolled her eyes. "Puppy dog doesn't work when I'm not looking at you."

He curled his arm up under her and then dove both hands into her stomach. She tried to get away, giggling when he tickled her. She grabbed his wrists and careened back into his chest, laughing, but trying to sound angry. "This is spousal abuse!"

He tickled her for a moment longer, then pulled her securely against his chest, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her breathing slowed and she wrapped her hands over his, smiling whenever he kissed her.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing her ear, breathing down her neck. "Do this for me."

"Fine." She scooted further into his chest, pulling the covers up and curling into him like a content kitten. "But that better be a damn good sandwich."


	16. Suddenly

**A/N: I just wanted to clarify that this story will go beyond the events of the show in that everything that happened during the show will still happen (the abortion, the divorce, etc.) What changes is what happens after Cristina leaves for Zurich. And this chapter takes place after the abortion occurs, but I'm not glossing over it. The next chapter will focus on all that tragedy. This chapter is about the episode in which Henry dies on Cristina's operating table.**

**XxX**

**Suddenly.**

**Season 8, Episode 10: Suddenly.**

_**November 1**__**st**__**, 2011.**_

Owen got to the top of the stairs and stopped. His head was spinning. He took a deep breath to steady himself, leaning into the railing. He hadn't been prepared for what happened today – he had seen men die, he had lost friends, and he'd seen his friends lose their loved ones, but Henry's death seemed so colossal. He hardly knew the guy, and it hit him like a battering ram. Just here, at the top of the stairs, in his own warm home, it hit him.

His best friend's husband was dead. Her happiness was screwed.

And she was going to put all the blame on him for acting like a chief instead of a friend. He had chosen a job he'd had for a little while over a friendship that could've lasted a lifetime.

The sound of water from the bathroom startled him. Cristina entered the doorway, bracing a hand on the frame and looking over at him. She looked exhausted, physically and mentally, but she managed a look of impatience and resentment nonetheless. She was glaring at him.

He braced himself for a tirade, but her anger dimmed after a second. She really looked at him – looked into him – and her expression softened. She seemed thoughtful. Whatever she had been planning to do or say faded away, and she became his wife again. "Come here."

He walked forward hesitantly, numbly, but he ended up staggering like a drunk. Cristina met him halfway and took his arm, guiding him onto the bed. She retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom and dabbed the blood from his face.

"Haven't you ever heard of a sink?" she asked, a bitter note in her voice. She ran the cloth along his hairline, grimacing at the streak of blood that appeared on it. "Was there a trauma after I left?"

She didn't even sound mildly interested, but the words came out, no matter how dead they were in the air. Small talk. She was angry with him for making her lie to her mentor, but she was forcing herself to speak to him. It had come down to small talk.

It was a relief to have her there, to not be alone with his guilt. He leaned his head toward her, giving her better access to his forehead, and responded in a croaky, tired voice. "Kid crashed his bike into a lake; woke up from drowning and started vomiting blood."

"And you didn't think you should wash it off?"

He shrugged, shaking the blur from his vision. "I tried."

"You didn't try hard enough." She stood, tossing the cloth into the bathroom and tugging at his shirt. "Arms up." He complied and she pulled it off, crouching and undoing his shoelaces. When she looked up, he saw resentment again, this time stronger. Her jaw was locked. "I didn't do it for the patient. I did it for you. Don't ever ask me for that again."

He shook his head, trying to cup her face in his hands. She jerked away. "Cristina…"

"Never again," she snapped, standing again and pointing behind her. "Go take a shower." He tried to speak again, but she cut him off. "Just… just take a shower, Owen."

He complied, only because he didn't have anything else planned. He didn't know if he should try to sleep, or eat, or find a motorcycle and drive it into the nearest lake. He was at a loss. He cranked the heat up and drowned his thoughts in steam, his thoughts on Teddy, and the last time she'd been so crushed by something. It was when two of their friends had died in an ambush. But this wasn't like that. He knew it logically, but his emotions kept going there. It was a warzone all over again. The darkness of the desert had followed him into his new home.

The door opened and Cristina stepped in. She reached around him and turned off the water. He must've been in there for a while, because the steam was thick. It coated the mirror and dampened the walls. He waited for Cristina to say something, to yell at him, to scream what was obviously on her mind. She was brimming with words and he needed to hear them.

"You can yell at me," he murmured, pulling one of the towels from the bathroom shelf and stepping out of the shower. She watched him walk to the door, her jaw flexing, but not opening. He waited another minute, putting on his patient face. "I can take it. I can. Just say it."

Finally she sighed, crossing her arms and looking at the floor. "We're not talking about it tonight."

"But-"

"No!" she held up her finger, angry tears at the bottoms of her eyes. "We are not talking about it tonight. We're just not. It's not happening. I'm not hearing it."

She stormed into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, burrowing into the comforter and then going still, facing the other wall. He followed her slowly, running the towel over his hair to dry it out. He had barely dressed when she turned over and stared at him again, this time a little less angry than she'd been before. She folded her arm under her head and waited.

He slid in beside her, meeting her clouded eyes. She was thinking about something so hard that she was hardly there with him.

"What if it had been you?"

He blinked, not expecting words at all, let alone that question. "What?"

"What if it had been you that died, and I was operating, and no one told me that you were dead?" Her eyes began to tear up, but she went on, her words flowing out in a torrent. The dam had broken. "What if that had been you, Owen? How would I…? What would I…?"

She was starting to hyperventilate, pulling him out of his stupor. He grabbed her by the shoulders, ignoring it when she tried to shove him off. He pulled her tight into his chest, holding onto her with both arms, whispering urgently to her. "But it wasn't me. That will never be me."

Cristina was quiet for a moment. She drew her arm up, wrapping it over his shoulder and giving him a gentle huge. She wiggled out of his hold, pushing his arm to his side of the bed, and looked at him sadly. "I love you… I love you, and I know it's not your fault, I know it's not… but I'm mad at you. I can't make that go away. I just have to be mad at you, okay?"

"That's okay," he responded. "That's okay… that's fine… that's fine…"


	17. Paralytic

**Paralytic.**

**Season 8, Episode 12: Hope for the Hopeless.**

_**December 20, 2011.**_

"You killed our baby! You don't ever forget that!"

_How did I get here?_ She stared at him, paralyzed by that thought. She could go back in time and watch the threads begin to unravel – the abortion, the months of avoiding the subject, the cold glances and the quiet nights – but she couldn't fathom how she had gotten here. She had every moment at her fingertips, every muted conversation, but the pieces just wouldn't fit together.

She was staring at her husband, the man she had imagined as her soul mate, someone she trusted and depended on when she couldn't pull herself through, and she didn't recognize him. She didn't even recognize herself. She was so far from the moment they'd first met, so far that it made her nauseous to imagine the distance, and that person, that other woman, seemed like a pleasant dream. It had all come down to this. Her life had boiled down to this. Strangers screaming at each other in someone else's kitchen at a kid's birthday party.

Owen was enraged. His eyes showed the anger and resentment that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long. He was exposing the parts of himself that she amplified. He was brimming with fury and, for just a moment, he was being completely and utterly honest with her. No dancing around the truth. No waiting it out and hoping for the best. He said what had been on his mind for months, what they'd been avoiding since June.

Derek stepped between them, whatever he felt for her – brotherly love, protective instinct – putting a dark mask on his face. He was pointing to the back door like a pissed off father, with no room for argument. "Hunt, you need to leave." Owen glared at him, and for a moment Cristina thought he would say something, but Derek cut him off. "No," his voice was low and steady, but it was laced with venom. "Leave now. Just leave. Just walk away."

She felt Owen look at her, but she was focused on the floor. She was afraid if she looked at him, she would burst into tears, and she didn't want that. She just wanted this to be over.

"Don't look at her, just go," Derek ordered.

Finally Owen dropped his aggressive stance and stormed through the back door. She heard the wood slam and shutter in its frame and she flinched. She felt weak inside, like all of her organs were melting, but she managed to bring her eyes up again. Derek and Meredith were staring at her. Tears found their way onto her cheeks.

"Let's go upstairs," Meredith said from the doorway, holding her hand out. Her voice was soft compared to the men. She came over and took Cristina's hand, putting her arm around her shoulders. "Let's go upstairs and figure this out, okay?"

Cristina carefully wiped the tears from her face. She let Meredith lead her out of the kitchen to the stairs, where all of Zola's guests could see her devastation. She looked numbly down at them as she walked, noticing plenty of faces, but not really seeing any of them. She focused on her desire to stop her fear, to stop crying. She blocked everything else out, keeping that one, repetitive drive at the front of her mind. She was good at suppression.

Even when they were upstairs, in the safety of her best friend's bedroom, she refused to cry. Even when she laid against Meredith's shoulder and Meredith stroked her hair like a protective mother, she didn't let herself cry.

She was so tired of crying.

"If you need me to kill him I'll make it look like an accident," Meredith murmured to her, stroking her hair, nudging a box of tissues closer to them. Her voice was still gentle, but it had an edge of anger in it. "I'll dispose of the body in the mountains, so the bears can have him."

Cristina nodded into her shoulder. She had felt the storm coming. She realized that now. She'd been denying it – they both had – but now it was here. The elephant in the room was stomping all over everything. In her sick, depraved mind she'd thought not talking about it would resolve their issues, or that avoiding it, pretending there was no space between them, would just make them stop existing altogether. Now she was left here wishing that it had never bubbled to the surface, that everything could go back to the way it was. She wished for it so much that it hurt. It really, truly hurt, and she didn't know if they would come through it.

It seemed like hours passed before she stirred. Her arms were sore and Meredith seemed to have fallen asleep. When Cristina sat up her friend started, snorting, and looked at her. "It's okay," she said immediately, "You can stay here. Derek doesn't care. He doesn't care."

It was tempting. She almost laid back down. She almost gave in to her desire to run away from it all. But that had caused all of this. Running away. She couldn't do it anymore. She scraped her hair down and rejected the tissue Meredith tried to offer her. "No, I have to go home. I have… surgery in the morning, and I need my bed."

"Cristina you should stay here with us."

"No… I can't hide here. I'm a big girl now," she ran her hands over her face, trying to stop the burning beneath her eyes. "He's just… he's just mad. He'll get over it. This is nothing – _this_, this is nothing."

"But he said-"

"I know what he said," Cristina snapped. "I'm never going to be able to get _what he said_ out of my head. But I'm not hiding. He can't just… he can't just… kick me out of my own house. It's my house. That's my bed and I'm sleeping in it one way or another."

Meredith sat up with her, nodding. "Okay."

"I'm going, Mer."

"I said okay."

"Stop giving me those eyes."

"I can't help it. These are my 'I love you but I want to keep you prisoner here until you come to your senses' eyes. I want you to stay here, because if you go back there… he's got a temper, Cristina, and I've told you before that he's dangerous-"

"That was a long time ago-"

"Not that long."

"We've been married for two years. Two years. He barely has nightmares anymore. God, he's not gonna ax-murder me. He's just pissed off."

"Do you really want to be there right now? You're just gonna fight again and Derek can't-"

"I don't need you and _Derek_ to fight my battles for me," Cristina snapped, standing up and adjusting her cardigan. She crossed her arms, staring at the door. She thought she could storm off, but Meredith was staring at her, concerned. "I… I can handle this. I can handle him being angry, because I… I am the one who made him angry." She opened her mouth to protest and Cristina cut her off. "I'm not saying it's justified, but he is mad… he is mad at me, and I am his wife, and this is marriage. This is freaking marriage. It can't be all sunshine and rainbows like you and Derek, okay? You have to… you have to fight for it, for each other, and he's just… he's mad right now but he will get over it. He'll… he can't… he can't stay mad forever."

She headed downstairs with Meredith following her. She was still focusing on keeping the tears at bay. The living room was empty except for Lexie and Derek, who were entertaining Zola on the couch. They all looked up as the women came down. Derek stood up, his daughter in his arms, and did what Meredith had tried to do.

"He was way out of line-"

"We're not talking about it," Cristina cut in. She took her coat from the closet and turned, shrugging it on and trying to do the buttons with trembling hands. She took Zola from him, giving her a kiss on the cheek and smiling reflexively when the baby smiled. "Sorry I ruined your party, kid. You won't remember it anyway."

She offered him the baby, and Derek took her, frowning. "If you need us, call."

"I know," Cristina said. She backed out of the door, her eyes on Meredith, and then she turned around and walked away. She didn't look back, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn't stop her brisk walk, no matter how many comforting things Meredith yelled to her.

She walked home alone in the darkness, kicking anything that happened to be lying on the sidewalk. It was freezing out, but she appreciated it. The cold air cleared her mind. She didn't want to be consumed by what had happened – she'd set out to be strong, and she was going to do it, no matter what happened. She wasn't going to collapse on the sidewalk and cry like a little girl.

When she got to the firehouse she didn't go inside. She stood in the road, looking up at the bay windows behind their bed, and wondered about the soft light flickering on the other side of them. He was awake. She wanted to run for it – to pull an Izzie and flee – but she was exhausted, and she had come too far to stop here. She just sat against the stone arch and let her legs spread in front of her. She sat there, in the cold, in the dark, and tried to get herself ready for round two.

"Dammit." Her mind radiated with a budding headache and she sighed, clawing away the few tears that had escaped her strength. "Dammit, dammit, dammit." She scraped her shoes into the ground, practicing deep breaths. For a while she just stared out at the quiet street, her eyes following a few people who walked alone in the darkness.

Eventually it occurred to her that she was sitting outside, alone, in the middle of the night in Seattle. She stood up to play with the door, wondering if she even had her keys on her, but before she could touch it, it swung open.

Owen stood there, staring at her with dark, tired eyes. She waited, her heart pounding, but he said nothing. He just stared at her, and then turned around and headed for the stairs.

Perhaps he'd thought she'd been locked out. At least he didn't want her to get murdered on the steps. That was progress, or maybe just a glimmer of hope. It was something.

She headed up, reserving her emotions, trying to keep her strength. She found Owen already on his side of the bed, staring at the wall. He didn't look up. She followed her normal ritual, trying to pretend he wasn't there, and then she crawled into her side and curled up on the edge of the mattress. She tried to imagine that it was just another night, and that she'd wake up and kiss him in the morning, but she had a sinking feeling that she would never get to kiss him again.

It burned a hole in her dreams.


	18. Something Else

**Something Else.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

**August 25, 2014.**

Cristina put her head down on her desk. Her _desk_. She sat up and ran her hands over its surface, again enthralled that she had her own desk. It was hers. She could leave coffee rings on it and store snacks in the drawers. She could pee in this chair if she felt like it. She could sleep on that couch and put drinks in that tiny, tiny fridge in the corner. She could keep journals and store them in that filing cabinet. She could print things on that printer, in color, and post them all over the walls. She could paint the freaking place neon green and use the computer in her underwear. She had her own office, with her name on the door, and it was only a matter of time before she ruled the world.

She smiled to herself despite how exhausted she was. She had been the whole morning getting acquainted with the dozens of cardio surgeons on staff at this hospital – her hospital. Fourteen department meetings, and at least ten hours sitting in a chair, nodding and doodling on a napkin, and she had decided to keep the vast majority of the policies put in place by Burke, therefore making the time she spent listening to those policies get read aloud completely wasted.

She had come to dread her new life, if only for a few hours, when she imagined she would be swimming in paperwork all day, much like when Derek became the chief – for like five minutes. But when the meetings ended, everyone got back to their own business, disinterested in socialization, as it should be. She liked her staff, from the perpetually grumpy Doctor Carson to the potentially mute, but ridiculously efficient, Doctor Hamm. She had known them for less than twenty-four hours, but their reputations proceeded them in almost every case.

She was taking her first self-assigned break, hiding out in her lush corner office and molesting her desk. She was situated in the distant east wing, far from the parking lot and the hustle and bustle of the patient wings. She was also at the very end of the hall, across from only a janitor's closet, so very few people passed by. It was quiet and warm, and one of her doors led to the research library. Her desk was situated in front of a massive corner window that dominated most of the wall space and gave her an excellent view of the distant mountains.

It was a little slice of heaven.

She was only sitting down for half an hour before someone knocked softly on her door. It was one of the Institute's guest surgeons, Doctor Phyllis Danforth. She was a thin, tall, bony woman with pale blonde hair and a deadly stare that melted residents in their tracks. Cristina had watched her perform surgery that morning and she already admired her skill.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Phyllis said, holding out her hand. Cristina shook it. "I've heard great things, and some terrible things – I hope all of them are true."

Cristina didn't know what she should say to that. Her eyes caught a wedding ring on the other surgeon's finger; it was scratched up and diamonds were missing from the top.

Phyllis cleared her throat. "I'm Dr. Danforth, some people here insist on calling me Danny, but I prefer Phyllis or Doctor Danforth if you don't mind. I'm sure you already know that I'm here for the next ten days working on the Clover Trials. I have my patients nestled up in the west wing."

Her interest was immediately captured. She tilted her head. "Oh, wow, the Clover Trials? I've read about them but I didn't realize it had progressed to human subjects."

"We're waiting to publish until our first human trial candidate is successful – he had surgery three weeks ago and so far the valves are perfect." She glanced at the window, and then her eyes came back to Cristina. "I don't know if you've ever worked in a research institution, but a lot of patients come here as a last resort – most of them don't make it."

"I can handle death," Cristina responded. "I've had my fair share."

She saw something flash in the woman's eyes, but it was gone before Cristina could figure out what it was. Phyllis backed toward the door, nodding. "Okay. I think you'll do well here. But I am gonna go ahead and warn you – your resident is making a fool of himself in the lounge."

Cristina went casually to the doorframe, leaning around and glaring down the hallway. She walked slowly, purposefully, to the resident lounge, seething inside.

_Shane, I swear I will fire you!_

XxX

Cristina stood in the observation bay of one of the larger operating rooms, the crowning glory of the ground floor of the Institute. It was state-of-the-art, funded by the revolutionary research going on in every wing of the hospital, and it was equipped with high-functioning gear that shone bright silver in the soft overhead lights. It was booked months in advance for the most delicate procedures – she had several surgeries lined up for the proceeding weeks – and the observation area, where she was standing, was almost always full of residents, surgeons, and medical researchers. It was easily the most interesting place in the hospital. Risky, innovative things were always going on down below. It was like professional sports to them, never a dull moment.

She was there for a few reasons that intermingled. Phyllis had sent her an email inviting her to watch this surgery – she was putting her Clover device into a second human patient – and Cristina jumped on the opportunity to see her in action again. She was also between meetings and she had no surgeries scheduled that day, so she had free time to spend as she pleased.

Phyllis was a master, an absolute pleasure to watch. She was working in the chest of a very sick teenager, manipulating the deformed valves and chambers of his heart without breaking a sweat. She barely spoke, her hands dancing around with rapid, precise movements, and every now and then she would look up at Cristina and nod.

Cristina was so engrossed by this performance that she overstayed her welcome. The door opened and Shane peeked in at her, frowning. He tapped his watch.

"Crap," she hissed, hopping up and dashing outside. He matched her quick pace down the hallway. "Did you _see_ her repair that mitral valve?" she asked. "It was like she was born with a scalpel in her hand. I think I might start worshipping her."

"I didn't see," he responded, grabbing her arm when she tried to make the wrong turn. He swung her around to a little side hallway, where some of the conference rooms were tucked away.

"What is this meeting about?" she whispered, stopping short of the door.

"Hiring residents," he said, matching her quiet tone. "Including me. So let's go."

"I don't think you've kissed my ass enough today. I might reconsider."

He had a harassed look on his face as they pushed through the double doors together. She found an audience of over thirty people sitting in college-style stadium seats situated around a whiteboard. She went to the front while Shane took a seat near the back, one leg out in the isle as if prepared to rush off somewhere. Burke was standing by the whiteboard, smiling patiently as she joined him. He definitely had his teaching cap on.

"Okay, it looks like we're ready," he said, straightening a stack of papers and handing them to her. "Resident agreements and policies. Let's get started."

She had enough self-control to suppress a groan, but she knew she must have had an exhausted expression on her face, because Shane was smiling to himself in the back of the room. She scowled at him as she turned to page one of the pile of papers. It was written in legal jargon. Her heart dropped down into her stomach.

It took her several hours to go over everything with the residents. She had hired six new ones while still in Seattle, including Shane, and she had to assign them to surgeons who were willing to take on students. She had no idea how effective her employees were as teachers, so Burke took over and started throwing out names, giving the bright-eyed baby surgeons to four different attendings. She stepped up to assign Shane to herself.

When the meeting finally ended, the residents dispersed and Shane came down the middle aisle, biting his lip. "What do you want me to do?"

"Holly Vaughn doesn't come in until Wednesday, so until then you'll be making phone contact with future trial patients and scheduling their surgeries. I have a list in my office. I also want the status of Damien Brightly – see if he needs to be transported here. I can afford to bump him up the list if he starts to tank. And call my landlord and ask about the electricity."

Shane nodded as she spoke, and when she stopped, he started backing away. "What do you want for lunch?"

"Surprise me."

He was gone in a matter of seconds, letting the door swing shut behind him. Burke twisted his lips. "He is definitely eager to please you. What made you choose to bring him?"

"He was my resident back at Grey-Sloan. He didn't want his education to suffer when I left."

"He must have been a hell of a resident, to bring him all the way over here."

"He begged me. He actually begged. And yeah, he is a hell of a resident." She gathered the papers and bundled them in her arms. "Care to continue this conversation in my office?"

"Lead the way."

"I was hoping you would lead the way. I don't actually know the way."

He smirked, looking down at her as they walked. The hallways had begun to fill again, and they got respectful nods from everyone they passed. "Have you been to the third floor yet?"

"Briefly. It's depressing up there."

"Isn't that where you're putting your conduit patients?"

"No, I want them down here. I don't have anyone that critical on my list." The third floor was the cap on the Institute, a large, circular intensive care unit filled with deafly ill patients. It was a place for around-the-clock care, with the highest concentration of life support equipment and the highest mortality rate. Only the worst were housed there – newborns with critical defects, elderly people with deteriorating tissue, and half a dozen cases of persistent cardiac cancer.

She flopped down in her chair when they arrived at her office. She tipped her head back, blowing a heavy breath through her nose. "Do you really think Doctor Carson is a good choice to take over your residents? I'm seventy percent positive he's a closet serial killer. Did you see how he wrung that stethoscope?"

"He can be a little… edgy, but he has his reasons. He'll be a good teacher." Burke leaned into the window, looking down at the plaza. "What do you think of all this so far?"

"I think… I'll get used to it."

"I fly out in the morning, bright and early. Edra in the kids are way ahead of me. I just wanted to make sure you were settled in before I fled the country." He smiled a little, longing in his eyes. "You know I made the decision to leave months ago, but it's only sinking in now."

"I know the feeling." She imagined Owen staring at her through the OR glass, a heartbreaking sadness in those beautiful eyes of his. It made her heart twist all over again.

Burke seemed to notice the look on her face. "I guess you left a lot behind."

"I was married, you know."

His eyebrows raised slightly, and he watched her, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"It didn't work out," she went on, rolling her wrist. "I left him behind, and Meredith, and all my stupid friends, and it sucks, and it hurts, but this place… this place is my future."

He watched her for a little while, and then he drifted toward the door, running his finger along the bookshelf on the far wall. He sighed as he paused in the doorframe, looking around the office. "Perhaps we'll meet again one day. I'll be following your work." His eyes came to her, and she sensed a resolution to their relationship. "Goodbye, Cristina."

It was more than he had given her at their wedding, but it seemed so short as far as goodbyes went. He left before she answered, but still the words came in a whisper. "Goodbye, Burke."

She sat there for a while, staring out at the plaza. She saw him stride across it, saw the last glances he gave to the hospital he had created, and then he disappeared in a crowd near the street. She had been eager to get back to the observation area, to find a surgery to watch until she was inevitably drowned in paperwork again, but she just sat there, reflecting quietly on what he had said, and the sad look on his face. She was really turning a page in her life, and it was just starting to set in.

XxX

"I hate office chairs."

"I hate Switzerland."

"If I have to sit in one more office chair, I'm gonna stab somebody."

"I just want my stethoscope back."

"Be a man and take it back."

It went silent. Her new apartment was nestled on the edge of the mountains, perched on a shaded road about a mile from the bustle of the city. Light poured in from the massive bay window next to her bed, painting the floor silver, and the moon hung like an ornament above the trees, peeking through the dark pine needles and creating quite a view.

Cristina was lying on her bed – the only thing she had assembled since arriving in Zurich on a red-eye the night before – and Shane was lying beside her. They both had their arms folded behind their heads, their elbows touching, and their muddy boots dangled from the edge – they had spent a few hours trudging around outside trying to locate the fuse box before one of her neighbors came over and informed them that it was across the street. It was chilly, but as soon as she'd come in Cristina had shed her jacket and scrubs, preferring to free her arms in a tank top. She didn't even care that she was shivering.

Shane yawned, stretching out his legs. He kicked off his boots and they clunked to the floor. "I think Doctor Burke had a policy about only hiring assholes."

She sighed. "How am I supposed to run this place if you can't even get along with the other residents? I mean, come on, man up."

"They started it."

"I don't care." She rubbed her forehead. "I really, really don't care, Shane. You know why? Because I'm in Switzerland. I'm in freaking Switzerland, and I'm supposed to be running a state-of-the-art research institute and I can't feel parts of my _brain_. I don't know what half of the stuff I agreed to was today – I don't do budgets and parking space allocation, I do surgery."

"So ask Burke."

"I can't whine to Burke – I'm supposed to be running the place now. Beside he did that whole 'walking away dramatically' thing earlier." She kicked off her shoes, curling her legs up and rolling to her side. She stared at the ugly, chipped, wooden picture frame that hung on the wall opposite the window. It was the only thing that had been in the apartment when she'd arrived, and she wasn't inclined to take it down. It gave the place flavor. "I think… I made a mistake coming here." She thought a moment, then groaned. "No, no, I didn't. This is the best thing I could've done. But this sucks. Starting over sucks."

"At least you have me."

"You're useless. You're a child."

He looked over, his eyebrow cocked. "I'm a grown ass man."

"You're a cardio baby – I'm a cardio god. Get used to it. I need… other grown-ups to talk to. I need people who aren't afraid I'm gonna fire them."

"So make friends with Doctor Danforth."

"I hate her name."

"It is kind of… weird."

"She's too nice. I think she might stab me and leave me in a ditch somewhere."

"I heard a rumor about her, actually." He turned over on his side as well, laying his head on his elbow and twisting his lips. "I heard she had a kid – like seven – who died last year. He had some kind of cancer, tough to treat, and on top of that he was born with a subpar immune system."

"Did she enter a state of reactive psychosis after surviving a plane crash?"

"No, but-"

"Did she fudge her hours in the system and then maul a guy's heart because she thought it was a person she had sent to her death?"

He swallowed, his eyes darkening. "No."

"Then she's probably a pinch less crazy than us." She patted his cheek. "Did you find someplace to stay, or are you crashing here again?"

He groaned. "Do you mind?"

"I don't care, remember?"

He made a few dramatic noises as he hauled himself off of the bed. "I'll be on the mattress in the living room. Don't step on me this time, please." He grabbed his boots and teetered in the doorway. "Did you get that? The mattress… on the floor… in the living room."

She threw her hand up. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You'll be my doormat and you'll like it."

He smiled very slightly, then vanished into the dark interior of the apartment. "Night."

She burrowed her way into her covers, curling into a ball to warm herself up. She had a thousand things on her mind, from a growing dislike of all things paperwork related to anxiety about the complicated floorplan of the Institute. Her mind stopped a few times, bringing her focus back to Washington, and she saw the faces of her friends as vividly as she had only a few days ago.

Owen came to her mind last, and the image of him resonated. If he were there with her, he would have put his arms around her and stopped her shivering. He would have reassured her about her new job, and encouraged her to face it all head on. If he were there he would have kissed her, and she would have listened to his heartbeat until she fell asleep.

She stretched out her hand absently, filling the space where he would have been, and forced herself to lie still until the world went dark, and office chairs chased her through her nightmares.


	19. Holly

**A/N: Well, school is officially over this semester and I am well on my way to becoming a licensed nurse. I'm sorry about the time lapse between some of the chapters, but now that finals are over my schedule has opened up, so I hope to post more frequently. I genuinely enjoy writing this story and I look forward to any feedback you want to leave for me.**

**XxX**

**Holly.**

**August 27, 2014.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She knew it wasn't going to be a good day. It was chilly out and the wind only got stronger when she left the safety of her apartment. She'd slept through the night but she'd been awakened early by Shane snoring on the floor – he parked himself in front of their only heater, so when she got out of bed she made sure she stepped on his outstretched hand. She was sore from a prolonged surgery the night before and she didn't even want to go in today. But today was an important day, even if it wasn't a good one, even if she felt like she would breathe fire if anyone screwed with her. It was the day her first phase three conduit patient, Holly Vaughn, arrived at the Institute.

She was met with a cup of coffee from Phyllis, who had adopted an obnoxiously friendly demeanor. She had known her for less than seventy-two hours, and mostly only through the glass of an OR room, but Phyllis treated her like a best friend as they walked together through the west wing. Here, two floors of terminal cardio patients were just beginning to stir.

And one of them was coding.

"Oh, it's Matthew," Phyllis said, holding up a hand when Cristina started toward the room. "He does that. I have him under twenty-four hour observation so there's already a doctor in there."

Cristina shrugged. She had heard of Matthew. He was one of Phyllis' trial patients here to have his valves completely refurnished. He was her third human subject, scheduled to receive the Clover device only three days after her second subject's surgery. Her first patient, who had received the device three weeks ago, had died of fatal complications less than twelve hours ago.

"I'm hopeful about this one," Phyllis babbled as they walked, sipping her own coffee.

Last night they had been observing the artsy surgery of Douglas Ferrer when Phyllis' pager started buzzing. She had looked down, a shadow passing over her face, and then she let it roll off of her like someone had knocked over her mailbox. Her strange form of grief – or lack of grief – reminded Cristina of Teddy, only Phyllis was much colder on the outside. Cristina knew that she must have a gooey center, but it was completely inaccessible. She wondered how a woman like that had ever been married, or loved a child. Cristina looked like a ball of sunshine compared to her.

"We're going in on him this afternoon," Phyllis went on, unfazed by the subject, or the fact that her patient was having a hard time right down the hall. "If you want to observe, there's always a place for you in the OR. I don't imagine it'll be a very long procedure but if he keeps coding every twenty minutes, it'll make it interesting."

"I don't know if I'll have time." _God yes, I'll be glued to the freaking glass_. "I'll check in if I can. In the meantime, you can come with me to meet Holly Vaughn."

Holly was a gorgeous kid, or she would have been, if she had been born with a good heart. She had hundreds of ringlets of pitch black hair and a touch of gray in her bright blue eyes. She looked like a baby doll, as pale and fragile as porcelain, and she was beautiful for all the wrong reasons. She was too thin, and half the size of a normal one-year-old. She could crawl on her good days, and even lurch around on her best days, but she didn't have many. She was twelve months and seven days old, and almost all of her life so far had been spent moving between hospitals. She had suffered through sixteen cardiac procedures at the behest of her millionaire parents.

She was lively, and happy, throwing up her arms when Cristina and Phyllis entered the room, but her parents were the opposite. Standing in different corners, facing away from each other and the baby, they spoke quietly on their cellphones and tried to forget where they were.

"Hi, Holly," Cristina said, gently brushing the girl's hands away from her IV. She got a teary-eyed look and quickly handed the kid her retractable nametag. "You need to keep her from pulling on that," she said to the parents, looking between them.

Ms. Vaughn, a witchy Romanian CEO, glanced up briefly to scowl at her ex-husband. Her eyes came to Cristina, and eventually the baby, and her expression dimmed. "Why does she need that?"

"Her health is beginning to deteriorate as the valve-" She cut herself off. They had made it clear from the start that they weren't interested in specifics. "She needs the fluids in her IV for her surgery tomorrow. It's helping her body prepare for the trauma. I've found it gives small children a better chance of survival."

Her mother looked away again, not disinterested, but disenchanted with the idea. She took up her phone and started typing rapidly into it. "She would be fine if Harry didn't smoke around her."

"Maybe you shouldn't have dropped her," the father snapped, not even looking in their direction.

Cristina cleared her throat, shooting a glance at Phyllis, who looked amused. "I can assure you that her condition has nothing to do with cigarette smoke or being dropped. She was born with this defect." She had no audience, but she went on anyway, "This is my colleague Doctor Danforth." She waited, pursing her lips. "I'm going to examine Holly now. You don't have to be in here."

At the first chance they both fled. Phyllis circled the bed, putting her stethoscope on and making a face. "What a happy couple. I could really feel the love between those two."

"Yeah, they're a handful, but they're practically throwing money at me to get her this surgery." Cristina jumped a little when Holly let go of her ID and it slapped against her chest. "She's a good candidate, and the younger the better."

"So you bumped her to the front?"

"She's the prime candidate," Cristina repeated. "I have the others under close monitoring for now. One of my other imminent patients is flying in from Japan next week."

"How many are there?"

Cristina glanced up from the chart, counting. "Forty confirmed – a few hundred floating around in the void. I'm waiting on test results, confirmation of illness, all that crap the FDA has wet dreams about. I even set up a few for six months, nine months, and a year from now. One of them isn't even born yet – the defect was diagnosed in the womb with advanced imaging software. I think his grandfather owns half of Denmark or something."

"You really know how to fill up your plate."

Cristina set the chart on the side table and picked the baby up, holding her delicately on her hip. She could feel her underdeveloped bones as her skin slid across them. Holly was delighted, giving a little squeal and tugging on Cristina's nametag again. It felt good to hold her, and it gave Cristina a little nostalgia. She imagined having Zola there, and teeny tiny little Bailey.

"I like to keep busy," Cristina said, wrapping her fingers around the kid's thigh to measure her pulse. It was weaker than she'd hoped. "I want you to listen to her heart."

Phyllis pressed her stethoscope to the baby's chest, listening intently for a few seconds before she gave Cristina an incredulous look. "How did she make it this far?"

"Dumb luck, as far as I can tell. She won't last much longer without intervention. I'm going in on her tomorrow morning. I printed four different conduits for her. If she survives the next few months, she has a good chance to live a normal life."

Phyllis glanced over the chart, and then backed toward the door. "I better check on Matthew."

"Oh, could you use a resident for the day?"

"I wouldn't mind it, if you had one to spare."

"Can you take Shane?"

"Of course. Send him my way."

XxX

"What do you think of Phyllis?"

Shane took another bite of his noodles. "Who?"

"Phyllis Danforth," Cristina clarified. "I want your honest opinion."

His eyes became livid, prodding the air with his plastic fork. "She's mean, vengeful, and I think she's the one who took my stethoscope. I can't believe you put me on her service."

"Is your stethoscope navy blue?"

"Yeah."

"Smiley face sticker wrapped around-"

He sat straight up, scowling. "Ha! She was the one who took it!"

"I doubt you're getting it back. That woman is a shark and you smell wounded."

Cristina slid her chair back until it collided with the windowsill. She turned to look down at the doctors and nurses bustling about in the plaza, a staff that could serve as a small army. She liked watching them from here, trying to recall their names and specialties, and how good their files looked. She felt like a ringleader, an almighty sovereign who ruled over their lives.

Shane came to her side, crouching down and folding his arms in the windowsill. He looked like he was pouting, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "You get this crazy look on your face when you're mad with power."

She laughed. "Do I?"

"I'm seriously starting to worry about you."

"Eat your lunch, Sharky – you're gonna need your energy. Phyllis is letting you scrub in on her Clover patient today, and I need you to babysit Holly Vaughn tonight."

"But I'm doing her surgery with you tomorrow morning."

"Yeah. You gotta be sharp all the time. Sleep is for the weak."

"I guess I can nap before I scrub in with Doctor Danforth." He went back to his food, scraping the bottom of his bowl. When it was empty he swiped it sideways into her trashcan. He sat back and put his feet up on the desk, quickly dropping them when she gave him a dirty look. He pulled one of the journals from her bookshelf instead. "Danforth hates me, you know."

"You need to learn to thrive in a hostile environment. No more of these petty feuds with the other residents. I hired four of you – well, actually I hired six, but two got on my nerves – and the others are more experienced than you. The point is, I can't have your back with them. I need you to prove your mettle, like you proved it to me back in Seattle."

"I don't need you to protect me."

"Oh yeah? Where's your lab coat?"

"I… misplaced it."

"Tell me who took it and I'll make it miraculously appear in your locker."

"That's what you call not having my back?"

"It's part of the dress code."

He almost spoke, but he shut his mouth, shaking his head and smiling. He went on flipping through the journal, giving a little laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing. Shouldn't you be eating?"

"I can't eat when I'm irritated. Mr. and Ms. Vaughn are driving me crazy. It's like my mother moved into the hospital."

She got up and snatched the journal out of his hands, shoving it back where it was. She was about to go back to the window to calm herself by looking at her underlings, but something passed by her doorway. Something small.

She stepped into the hallway and scowled. Holly Vaughn turned around, grinning, and crawled over to her, holding out her little arms. Cristina picked her up, checking her arm and finding a small hole where the IV had been.

"Oh, you little…"

"Is that Holly?" Shane came out, looking incredulous. "What's she doing here all alone? How did she even get here? I didn't know she could walk."

"She can lurch," Cristina clarified, checking the baby's pulse and frowning at how weak it was. She held the kid delicately in one arm and headed down the hallway, to the common area between the four wings of the second floor. Here, the elevators, a hundred or so comfy chairs, and a receptionist sat at a busy intersection.

She went straight for the east wing, the terminal and trial wing, where the baby in her arms was supposed to be resting in preparation for a major surgery. Shane followed them, dutifully opening doors for her and urging others out of the way.

She made it to Holly's doorway, but there was no one inside. She stood there for a moment, trying to gauge how angry she was as opposed to the general crapiness of the day. She gave up. She was tired, and yelling at the billionaires who liked the idea of fixing their daughter, but not the idea of actually _having_ a daughter, would just get her perfect patient taken away. She didn't need them here, anyway. She was going to fix the kid, one way or another.

"Do you want me to find them for you?" Shane wondered, hovering in the doorway.

She shook her head, setting the baby down in her bed. She got an angry face in response. Holly balled her little fists into Cristina's scrubs and started whining. Cristina sighed, pulled down the rails, and sat on the end of the bed, handing her one of the little toys her parents had brought to the hospital. She chewed on the edge of it, looking curiously at Cristina and Shane.

"Put in a new IV and track down her last meal."

He started toward them, then paused, frowning. "Her last meal?"

"Before the surgery. Her last meal before the surgery."

"It's just… that's why they say when people are going to die. Do you think-?"

"Nope." Cristina tickled Holly's foot, provoking a nose-ruffling smile. She smiled in response, unable to help herself. She was a cute kid. She watched Shane get the IV ready and did her best to distract the kid from the needle prick. Holly didn't even cry. "What a champ," Cristina cooed, grabbing the tape from Shane and doubling it over the IV. "This can't come out again. I want her watched – find someone who has the time."

"I have time."

"You're scrubbing in with Danforth in two hours. I thought you wanted to take a nap."

"No, no, I can watch her. Here." He tugged her off of the bed, quickly taking her place. He smiled down at Holly. "Just send a nurse my way later."

Cristina waited in the doorway, unsure. "Shane…" He seemed to have a handle on it, and he was beaming from ear to ear, but she felt a little guilty putting this on him. He had been working almost nonstop since their arrival, only taking time to sleep from the wee hours of the morning to sunrise. She was surprised he was still so perky. Phyllis had been using him as a SCUT monkey all day, over a dozen trial candidates and their families had come in to pour their hearts out to him, and not one complaint had left his mouth.

But he was one of the few people she would trust with such an important patient.

Shane looked up, smiling in response to her unspoken objection. "Sleep is for the weak."

She nodded, a flash of pride in her, and then she pulled the door shut. She turned into the hall, ready to delegate some shiny new equipment to the ORs on the first floor, but she found one of the visiting surgeons waiting for her. He had his hands folded politely and he smiled as she saw him.

"We had a meeting to go over my trial proposal."

"I was… just getting ready for that. One of my patients went AWOL. Let's go do that now." She set a quick pace back down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder at Holly's door. She almost wanted to hang around and keep an eye on her vitals, because walking down a hallway, for Holly, was like running a triathlon. She hoped Shane would prepare himself for the worst.

She hoped the kid would make it, but she wasn't counting on it.


	20. Butterflies

**Butterflies**.

**August 29, 2014.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Cristina walked down a busy sidewalk in the middle of Zurich, where residencies and marketplaces clashed and just about every language could be heard from people in classy, dark-colored suits. It was close enough to the airport to attract the victims of layovers, and beautiful enough to draw crowds of tourists. On one side of the pristine two-lane street there were rows of homes with elegant doorways and small, square, fenced-in patches of grass laden with swings and yard décor. It was a sharp contrast to Seattle, but she was starting to get used to it. She liked that it was busy, because very few people had time to stop and notice that she and her companion were outsiders.

She took the last bite of her banana and chucked the peel in the nearest trashcan, nudging Shane around a performing mime. "I liked the last one. It was full of possibilities. And there was room for a pool in the back. I hear it gets very mild here in the summer."

"It was boarded up and probably infested with mice."

"I said it was a fixer-upper. You gotta put a little elbow grease into it."

"If you want me out of the apartment that bad I can find a hotel."

"I have to nudge you gently out of the nest. Besides, the hotels around here are terrifying. You would probably end up somebody's bitch and I'd have to come to your rescue. You may be a shark in surgery but when it comes to real life you would roll over like a cute little puppy dog."

"I'm gonna find a place – tonight, if I have to."

"He says as we walk down Market Street."

"I'm using the local paper – we're right here," he jabbed at the paper in his hands, not even bothering to try and pronounce the foreign language scrawled across it. "Look, there are three houses up on this street. Maybe they're around that curve up there."

"One of us should invest in a car. Or a scooter."

"Wait, wait, right here." He stopped where he was, shoving the paper into his backpack and pointing out a sign across the street. It was small, power blue, and completely illegible to her. Still, it looked promising. "See? Open house, right there."

"That could just as easily be a no trespassing sign."

He jogged across the street, not bothering to look both ways. She rolled her eyes and stayed where she was, crossing her arms. "I'm not getting shot for you!"

"Fine, stay there. I don't need your _guidance_."

She snorted, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She had a few more texts from Phyllis detailing the progress of her third Clover trial patient, each of them ending with a smiley face. Cristina wrote out a short reply, but for some reason it felt too cruel. Phyllis had been clingy, and though she hated clingy people, Cristina sensed something else going on with her. She was curious and she wanted to figure it out before she drove her away with indifference. She typed a smiley face, grimacing, and sent it.

Shane came back over to her, shaking his head. "I used the translator on my phone. It was a political sign. I don't think I read the newspaper right."

"I think you're stalling."

"What? You think I want to stay in your apartment? You get the entire bathroom wet when you shower, you eat all the marshmallows out of my cereal, and you stay up all night on the phone."

"It's morning in Seattle so that technically isn't true."

"It's night here, and now that I finally get to sleep at night, I like it."

She took the newspaper from him, continuing their walk down the sidewalk. "Why don't you try for one of those houses along the canals? I got lost and ended up there last week – it's like a freaking painting."

"I'm a resident, I don't have a million dollar salary."

"Oh, well, that sucks. Hey I think this is a listing for roommates."

"I already checked, it's a babysitting ad."

"If you weren't so picky this wouldn't be so difficult."

"I'm not picky! I don't want a rundown drug house and I can't afford a house on the river or an apartment on the lake. I just have to keep looking."

She held up her hands. "You're touchy this morning."

"You left me on Danforth's service. She has me doing scut like an intern. She's not even supposed to be here right now. Didn't she say she was leaving this week?"

"I think she's pregnant."

He missed a step, then caught up, shaking his head. "Her husband is dead."

"So she's three months pregnant."

"She's not pregnant."

"You got an ultrasound in that shiny head of yours?"

He smirked. "Her kid died and her husband killed himself. I really doubt she'd keep a baby after that. Who would want that? Who would want to raise their dead spouse's child?"

Cristina turned down one of the side streets. "Are we going in the right direction?"

"She's not pregnant," he repeated. "But she is a demon."

"I don't know, she's pretty nice to me. Maybe she just doesn't like you. Maybe she finds your sensitivity annoying, and the sun that reflects off of your head gives her a headache."

"Everyone hates her. I don't see why you like her so much."

"Because we're the same." She stopped, trying to see the lake over the tops of the distant houses. She gave up and plopped onto the nearest bench, pulling out her phone.

Shane sat down beside her, watching others walk by and giving friendly smiles when he made eye contact with someone. "You are completely different than her."

"You can't see it because you _know_ me, but everyone else sees me the same way. They think strength means indifference; they think every woman should act like Mother Teresa and give them the 5-star treatment. Some of us, believe it or not, don't wear our hearts on our sleeves. It's the way Hahn was, it's the way I am, and it's the way Danforth is."

"Who is Hahn?"

"That's not the point. She's not a demon, she's not cold, she's just… not wasting her time until she knows that you're a good investment. Which you are. And she'll realize that."

He sat back, crossing his arms. "So you're friends with her?"

"I'm… curious. She's a great surgeon, and she's dedicated, and focused, but she's holding something back… I think she's mourning… It must've been horrible, losing her family like that." She tucked her phone into her coat pocket, her eyes locking on the sweets shop across the street. "I think we should take a break from house hunting."

"So once she's done mourning she'll stop hissing at me?"

She stood, pulling him up by his arm. "Yeah, yeah, and peace will fill the world – do you have your wallet on you?"

She sent him across the street under the threat of termination, gladly abusing her power if it would get her an ice-cream. He was glaring at her from the line when her phone rang.

"Hey, Mer, what's cracking?"

"You sound unusually cheery."

"Holly is still alive and my conduit is working like a charm, I don't go in for a few hours, and this is my first morning off, so I decided to explore Zurich."

"Is it nice?"

"It's too big, I hate it. Anyway, what's up? Need a babysitter?"

"If you could buy me like five minutes it would be really helpful."

"Hand me over. Let's do this."

She heard the phone change hands, and then a shrill, excited voice came over the line. "Cristina!" She pronounced her name carefully every time. "I got a butterfly!"

Having a conversation with a three-year-old was hilarious. They had ideas in their head, tons of them, and they tried to say them all at the same time, never really getting a point across but expecting people to understand what they were saying. Cristina spoke to the kid almost every night – as part of her bedtime ritual, it seemed – so she could put the pieces together and derive meaning from the nonsense, but anyone else would've been completely lost.

"Oh, the one with the purple wings?"

It was a story of hers, completely fictional.

"Yeah the purple wings one and the gold one – but the green one flew away, up too high over the house and mommy said it flew away." She paused for a moment to take a breath. "But I found – I found – I found a red one, uh, under the couch, in the couch, on _top_ of it."

Cristina listened to her, urging her on when she stopped, asking about the details and smiling when they kept changing. She'd been dealing with a ton of kids for her trial, but Zola had the best imagination she'd seen so far. Any other kid would've annoyed her, but this was a special kid, and this kid gave her joy.

It wasn't long before Zola said goodnight and passed the phone back to her mother. She could hear Meredith brushing her teeth in the background, and her voice was garbled. "So don't freak out, but we had an incident in the ER today."

"Please tell me someone punched Alex in the face."

"Okay, so we had this motorcycle accident come in, two teenage boys hopped up on every kind of hallucinogen they could get their hands on. Owen was treating one of them when-"

"Owen?" Her heart jumped a few beats.

"He's fine, he's fine. Well, he's not fine, but he'll live."

"What happened?"

"One of the kids had a knife – stabbed Owen in the foot."

Cristina cringed. "Ouch."

"Yeah, needless to say it's been an interesting week."

"How is he?"

"Embarrassed. It slipped between his metatarsals and Callie said there won't be any permanent damage. He was a real champ. He did mention you, though, while he was all drugged up."

Cristina swallowed. "In what context?"

"He tried to drug-dial you, but I managed to talk him down. I think he wanted to profess his love."

"Thanks for stopping him. I don't think he'd live that down."

"Any time. Anyway, I'll let you get back to your expedition."

"Night, Mer."

Shane came back with two cones in his hands. She took her ice-cream, amused, and invited him back to the bench. She picked up a train of thought she had been working on earlier. "Phyllis is pushing for a full time position at the Institute."

"She asked you for a job?"

"Not yet, not really, but I can tell she wants to. I think I'll turn her down. I mean, I like her, but she has issues, and I don't want any issues messing up the work we're doing."

He nodded. "Good. You can't see it because she likes you so much, but she's an awful person."

"I don't care what kind of person she is," Cristina pointed out. "As long as my surgeons draw in good cases and follow protocol, I don't care if they eat orphans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's the issues I can't handle. I won't let this place get screwed up like Grey-Sloan was."

"It wasn't-"

"Don't even try to defend that hospital. It was like working with a soap opera going on, and I was a part of it. This, here, this is about the work."

He smiled and shrugged. "I think we made a wrong turn somewhere."

She looked around them, nodding and throwing her arms across the back of the bench. "We can just keep going. I'll call Phyllis when we run out of sidewalks. She rented a minivan."


	21. Elastic

**Elastic.**

**September 2, 2014.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Cristina sat back in her chair, staring at the fluctuating readings on the monitor. It showed the near constant rise and fall of oxygen of her pint-sized patient. Holly was tucked into the teddy bear sheets of a pediatric hospital bed, one tiny arm clutching a stuffed bird Cristina had given her the day before. She could see the girl's face through the plastic rails. She could see her eyes flickering as she navigated a dream, her hands clenching and releasing, her little fingers stroking the soft material that made up the little bird's head. Her body was becoming stronger despite what her readings might indicate. She was unaccustomed to having such a rich supply of oxygen, and therefore energy, in her body, and it showed in the color of her skin, and the strength of her brain waves. It was like she was waking up from a lifelong dream, taking her first real breaths, feeling the first real sensation of circulation.

She had never seen a conduit have such a dramatic effect on a child. She was hesitant to call it miraculous, but it was definitely exceeding her expectations. It gave her hope, and though she had no desire for that particular feeling, she liked the warmth that came with it.

It had been five days since her surgery and she was recovering well, if not a little slowly. Her father had left the night before, but her mother was standing silently by the window, reluctant to sit down even when the kid was sound asleep. Cristina had found a new perspective on the woman. She had a hell of a backbone, and despite being a complete jerk to everyone else in the hospital, she put on her mommy face whenever Holly stirred. It was kind of sweet, and kind of irritating.

When her phone started vibrating the woman whisked out of the room, glancing sidelong at Holly before shutting the door behind her. Cristina sighed, almost happy to be alone again. She had been here, in this chair, for the majority of the night. Holly had dropped her pulse around midnight and Cristina was anticipating another flat line. It was a slim possibility with such a stellar recovery, but she wanted to ensure survival, because the fate of her perfect candidate was an omen for the rest of them. If the best couldn't make it, the worst had no chance.

Shane crept into the room about an hour after sunrise, holding a cup of coffee and a clipboard. He looked a little startled to see her sitting there, but he went with it, offering her his drink while he checked over the girl. Cristina took a few sips, watching him work.

"I heard that she crashed," he whispered, grabbing the other chair, which had been shunned by the mother, and placing it beside Cristina. He slumped down, jotting notes on his clipboard in a shorthand that only he could understand.

Cristina nodded. "Do you think it was a glitch in the conduit?"

"She's so little," he reasoned. "It might just be the stress of surgery. I checked the conduit myself – there was nothing wrong with it."

She glanced at him, finding an openly hopeful look on his face. He still had that baby surgeon vigor telling him that everything was going to be alright. She envied it. "Where is Vinny?"

"He landed a few minutes ago. I have his room prepared and the conduits are already in the OR. Do you want to do orientation, or should I?"

"I'll do it. I need to get out of here." She stood, stretched, and gazed down at her teeny patient, allowing herself some of his optimism. She was showing all the signs of making a full recovery, despite the hiccup the night before. Shane was probably right about the crash. Her body was a little disoriented from the surgery, and now it was finding its footing.

Shane noticed her hesitation, hopping over into her seat. "I'll keep an eye on her, if you don't mind me skipping out on Danforth's service today."

"Thanks."

She handed him his coffee and left the room, trying to squash the cheer building up in her. It had looked dark for a little while, but the kid bounced back like a rubber band. Cristina couldn't help but admire her for that. She was a lot tougher than she looked.

Cristina went out into the ambulance bay, where sickly patients were delivered, and parked herself on one of the low stone walls. It was quiet out here, and aside from the group of nurses loitering near the sliding doors, she was alone. It gave her space to think – perhaps too much space. She was in a good mood, good enough that she thought about Seattle, and her phone appeared in her hands. She scrolled through old messages, smiling at her last conversation with Meredith. It was about Bailey's fixation with overalls. She ended up on Owen, though, and her smile faded.

It was the last thing he had sent her, the last message before she'd left for Zurich. It was dated about a week ago, though it seemed like a lifetime had passed since she'd said goodbye.

_Come back inside. Cold in here without you._

He had sent that from his trailer, when she'd left to go to the mall. She hadn't responded because she was already driving when she got it. She had rolled her eyes when she read it, because she could imagine him saying it in his whiney voice, using his puppy dog eyes.

She was staring down at it, whatever joy she had felt fading away, when the ambulance pulled up with her second patient inside. His name was Venice Adahy Miller, and despite coming by way of Japan, he was a Canadian-born mixture of Cherokee and Italian. His interesting ethnic background was nothing in the face of his personality. He was an absolute bottle rocket, and before the doors to the ambulance even opened, she could hear him talking the ears off of the medical personnel.

She walked up to the doors, shoving her phone into her pocket and trying to shake off her sadness. She popped one of the doors open and helped his mother out of the back. She was already talking, foreshadowing a headache for Cristina sometime that afternoon.

"He would not stop talking all the way over here – I think his spirit is up because his heart knows it's almost time to get fixed. I heard that the idea of getting better is sometimes enough to make people survive surgeries, even risky ones like this."

Cristina nodded as she spoke, following the gurney inside. Vinny had gone silent when the doors opened for them, but as they traversed the hospital hallways he looked around, wide-eyed, and started babbling about cartoons. He was three, and perfectly capable of forming a complete sentence, but he didn't seem inclined to do it, focusing on everything and nothing at once. His attention deficit was blamed on the lack of nutrient-rich blood reaching his brain – because of his crappy heart – but Cristina had a feeling he was just air-headed like his mom.

She put on her friendly face and guided the gurney to the room, asking the paramedics to transplant the kid onto the bed before they left. She circled it, grabbing his arm before he could bolt.

"I know you've been cooped up, but you have to stay still until your surgery tomorrow," she said, glancing at his mother to make sure she was listening. "I'm going to hook up an IV and I need you to make sure it doesn't come out. Someone will bring by a meal for him, but he can't eat anything after eight. There are some DVDs on the shelf – cartoons and movies – and some games and toys in the corner over there."

It wasn't exactly the orientation she usually gave her patients, but her mind was far away from the exuberant pair. She left as soon as she could, having every intention of going back to Holly to put her mind in the right place. She ended up walking straight to her office, not even glancing at the door. She locked herself inside, rolled her chair up to the window, and kicked her feet up.

She stared at that text, starting a few replies but deleting them. Each time it got a little more personal, a little more detailed. She found herself wondering what he was doing, what kind of cases he was encountering back in Washington. She wondered how his foot was, and how hard it was for him to spend a few days sitting down. She thought about it, and she wrote it out as a complex question, but she deleted it.

She couldn't bring herself to send him anything.

Instead, she set her phone in the windowsill, crossed her arms tightly around her chest, and let a few tears roll down her face. She was far away, and probably out of his mind by now, but the thought of his life going on without her made her stomach twist into knots. She had never felt such a deep longing for someone. It was like a vacuum had opened up inside.

She occupied herself with paperwork, going over research grants and presentations from different surgeons who wanted to use the facilities at the Institute. She had to approve them before any arrangements were made. Some applications came from the United States, but the majority originated in Europe and Asia, with a few unique proposals flying in from South Africa and another research facility on the western coast of Australia. She even got out her world map to highlight the locations as a visual reference – or perhaps just to keep her hands busy.

Her strategy of hiding out didn't last very long. Shane came to her door less than an hour after she left Vinny in his room. She went to answer it, but quickly realized that she had been crying the whole time she'd been working. She looked ridiculous.

She unlocked the door anyway, going back to her chair and waiting for him to realize it was open. He came in with a typical smile, but it died on his face when he saw her. "What's wrong?"

She waved her hand. "Nothing. What is it?"

"But you're crying. I could-"

"Either tell me what you want, or leave," she snapped.

His jaw clinked shut and he wandered further inside, tipping the door shut behind him. "Holly is awake. I think she wants to know where you are. She keeps showing me the toy you gave her."

"I'm busy," Cristina responded shortly, not wishing to have a long conversation about this – or about anything. She looked up from her papers, avoiding the obvious concern in his eyes. "I just… I need you to watch her. I don't trust anyone else to do it."

He seemed to have something else on his mind, but he nodded obediently, taking a step back toward the door. His eyes were soft, the kind of soft that made him not only a good doctor, but a good human being. "You don't have to worry. I'll handle it."

She stayed in her office for another half hour, but her guilt got the better of her. Who was she to deny a sick, unloved kid a little attention? She didn't have to go in on Vinny until the next morning, so her only responsibility for this night was to Holly Vaughn. She started deleting text messages on the way to the room, but one thread remained when all the others had vanished. She stopped in the hall just outside the door, leaning against the wall, staring at his name in bubbly blue text.

She left it where it was, resolving to delete it later. She went inside as quietly as she could, shutting the door behind her, and she found Shane alone in the chair by the bed, trying to entertain a stressed baby with the little stuffed bird Cristina had given her. When she heard the door shut, Holly looked over and started bawling, stretching out her tiny arms and wiggling her fingers.

Cristina picked her up carefully, mindful of the fresh wounds on her chest. She went around and slumped into the chair beside Shane, taking the bird from him and running it down the baby's cheek. She stopped crying and started sniffling, looking at Cristina with wet eyes.

"That's enough of that," Cristina murmured, rocking the chair back and forth, setting a sluggish pace that matched the low tone of her voice. "Shh. Look at the little bird."

Holly relaxed into her arms, pointing at the bird and glancing up at the two adults. "Bird?"

"Right," Cristina responded. "Bird. Little bird."

Holly spent an hour staring at the bird before she drifted off. Her little hand fell down onto her lap and her eyes fluttered shut. She was tiny for her age so she barely weighed anything – she could have been six months old in the eyes of an untrained observer. Her time on this planet, Cristina realized, had been spent being small, weak, and ignored. Her life was unfair, even cruel, and if she died it would be purposeless.

Her thoughts dragged her down for a while. She pulled the railing down and put her feet up on the bed, leaning back in the chair. Holly spread out across her chest, making soft cooing sounds in her sleep, clinging to the bird with two fingers. Shane was doing a crossword on his phone, having no other tasks since she took him off of Phyllis' service for the day.

It was dim in the room, with drawn curtains and soft lighting, but the baby made it a little brighter. She woke up a few times, searching around until she saw Cristina, and then smiling like she was in no pain, like she had never experienced sadness. It made Cristina smile, too, and it made her hopeful. Her condition was holding and she seemed in good spirits. If she kept it up she would be able to grow up like a normal kid, and have normal kid problems. She might be a little short, a little scrawny, but she would get to live a good, long life.

Suddenly that was all Cristina wanted for her. _Life_.

Shane dared to speak when the sun went down outside. "You should get some sleep. You were up all night. I can watch her."

"I should have texted him back."

"Huh?"

She looked over, realizing she was vocalizing a train of thought she had abandoned hours ago. She ran her fingers along Holly's exposed stomach, where the edges of her bandages had been picked at by tiny baby fingers. "I should have texted Owen back before I left."

He didn't seem to know what to say. He set his phone on the table and crossed his arms. "Why don't you text him now? Isn't it morning in Seattle?"

"I can't. I don't know what to say."

"I would start with 'hi.'"

She smirked. "Shane, you're being useless again."

"I'm crap at relationships."

"Me too."

"We should form a club."

She looked over, finding a characteristically stupid smile on his face. Sometimes he came home at night frustrated, completely put out with the world, but it rolled off of him in a matter of minutes. He was elastic when it came to emotions. She envied him for it, and admired it in him, and hated it, all at the same time. Some days it was annoying to know that, no matter what happened, he would find a way to feel good about it, and some days it was comforting to know that he was her shiniest, happiness friend, and that at least one person in the world was content with his life.

She was glad for it now, in this dim hospital room. She had an ailing baby in her arms who had a good chance of losing her life in the next few weeks, and Shane was a comfort.

She knew he was unconsciously trying to figure out what was going on with her earlier, and he was trying to cheer her up with that stupid grin of his, and no matter how much it irritated her to have a baby surgeon trying to fix her up, his positivity was working. She managed a smile back at him, though only briefly, and then she laid her head back against the chair.

"I guess you're sleeping here tonight."

She nodded slowly, letting her eyes drift back to him. "I'd appreciate if you would try to track down her mother. I need to go over the post-op care with her."

"Consider it done. I'll go to Romania if I have to."

"You just want to get away from Phyllis."

"I think everybody wants to get away from her."

She twisted her lips, enjoying the look on his face. He was vehemently opposed to being assigned to Phyllis Danforth despite how good she was, and how much she could teach him. Cristina kept him on her service because she was doing surgery every day, and Cristina wasn't fully established with the trial yet. She only had two patients in the hospital – Holly and Vinny. Shane was reluctant to admit it, but he would be bored to tears if Cristina didn't whore him to another surgeon.

He lingered in the doorway, looking at the baby, and then the stats on the monitor. He looked reluctant to leave, as she was, but he managed to close the door behind him. She smiled, glad she wasn't the only one enchanted by Holly.

Hours passed in the silence, and her tiny patient drifted in and out of dreams. Sometimes she woke up and looked around, seeming dazed, but her eyes always shut again, and she always dragged that bird up to her face, rubbing it on her cheek like Cristian had. Shane informed Cristina that Ms. Vaughn was going back to Romania for a few days, but that Mr. Vaughn was flying in from Egypt in the morning. She was too tired to be angry with them.

Holly woke up around midnight, the same time that she had coded the night before, and held the bird up for Cristina to see. "Bird?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Cristina nodded. "Little bird."

"Little bird," Holly agreed, rubbing it on her cheek.

She turned to look up at Cristina, twisting in her arms to gaze at her like only a child could. It was an intense, and thoughtless, and penetrating stare, as blue as cornflower, and as touching as watching a sunrise. Cristina looked away at first, uncomfortable with it, but she found herself drawn into it. She wondered what the kid could be thinking, what she saw when she looked up at Cristina. Did she know how troubled she was? Could she see her turmoil over Owen? How did it feel for her, to be so helpless, and in so much pain?

Cristina felt a little colder when the child relented and stared instead at the hospital bed. She watched her fall asleep again, watched the dreams take over, and then she took her phone from her pocket. She silenced it, and pulled up her text messages.

She deleted everything, and looked at the empty screen for a while before drifting off herself.


	22. Bad Outcomes

**Bad Outcomes.**

**October 1, 2014.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She sat in the rocking chair by the window, watching a plump raven walk along the roof of the parking garage. It was as black as the night sky, but it had a flash of white on its chest that made it look ghostly under the security lights. Cristina had a baby sleeping on her chest, her little hands balled up against her neck, and she spoke quietly, her voice directed at the window.

"I think the infection is going away. Her temperature is normal and she's been active today."

"Did her tests come back clean?"

Cristina choked on her words, looking down at the tiny face a few inches below hers. Holly was wrinkling her brow, her arm tightening around the little stuffed bird. Cristina ran her hand up and down her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I sent for more."

"So… not good, then?"

"I think it was an error – somebody screwed up the sample. I mean, yesterday this infection was eating her alive, but today she's fine. She's fine, Mer."

"I can hear her rough breathing through the phone."

"She's fine."

"Cristina…"

"I'm not letting an infection kill her. I'm in a state-of-the-art institution – _literally_. You should see this place, all shiny and robotic. The room I'm in is the size of your living room and it's only made for one patient. This is where medical history is meant to happen."

"I know."

"We have all the funding, Mer. We have everything we need here."

"I know."

"I'm surrounded by doctors and nurses, the best in the field."

"I know that."

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what? Like I know that you're overly attached and that you're going to be devastated when that baby dies? I've been through it before. We both have. We know what it sounds like when we lie to ourselves." She paused. Cristina heard her take a breath. "She's a baby. She's underdeveloped and she just had a major surgery."

"It's been a month."

"And she's not healing. She can't. Her body is under attack and she can't compensate because she didn't develop like she should have. This is a complication of your trial – you just had that other baby die, Sam Donovan, from the same complication. You're operating on sick babies and some of them are going to get infections."

Cristina was silent. She kept the phone at her ear, too bogged down to get angry with Meredith. She was right, after all. One of her patients died from complications just a few days ago, and the one she mentioned, Sam, had died a few weeks ago after he caught a strand of the common cold. She was right about the weakness of the children in her trial, and Cristina was usually steely in the face of death, but this kid was special.

"I'm sorry," Meredith murmured. "I know you love her."

"I don't… I don't even know her."

"You spent the whole day Friday sending me pictures of her, you carried her around the hospital all day Saturday, and now you're at her bedside, or maybe even holding her. It's okay. It's okay to fall in love with her."

Cristina sighed. "Fine, whatever, I'm in love with her. But she's not dying, so there's no need to feel sorry for me. She's fighting the infection. She going to make it."

"I just want you to be prepared if she doesn't."

"I know…" Cristina began rocking in the chair, noting a change in the baby's breathing. She was beginning to wake up. "Listen, I should go. You need to sleep."

"I'm fine, I'm not even tired."

"Isn't it like four in the morning there?"

"Yeah, but I have a baby, too, and he's having a bad night." She was quiet for a moment. "But if you want to go I understand. I'm being emotional because I'm holding Bailey. You need objective me – daytime me."

She was about to say goodbye, glad to have talked to her friend, but ready to call the conversation off. She almost had the words out of her mouth when the door burst open and light poured in. Holly woke with a start and Cristina stood straight up, dropping her phone.

Her whole world ground to a sudden stop.

Shane stood in the doorway, panting, a wild look on his face. "I paged you a hundred times!"

"I turned it off, she was sleeping. What is it?" She readjusted the baby, who groaned and looked at Shane with dim eyes. She accidentally dropped her bird on the bed and started reaching for it.

Shane stepped inside, cutting the light on and temporarily blinding her. "It's Vinny Miller. His conduit is failing."

"_What_?"

"His conduit is _failing_, the printer must've made an error, or we made an error. They diverted him here from the hospital. I was on the phone with the paramedics just now and they say he's fading fast. We need to prep an OR."

"Right, okay, get a nurse in here to look after her." She dumped Holly on the bed, holding her away when she cried and reached out for her. "No, no, I can't right now. Stay there. Just stay there." She grabbed her phone. "Book number seven and get it prepped, I want that equipment so sterile it makes an entire species of bacteria extinct."

"We don't have another conduit ready – the next one won't be complete for at least three hours."

"We have to keep him alive until then. Now get a nurse!"

XxX

"We did everything we could've done."

Cristina stared at the ceiling. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She'd spent so much time and effort denying Holly's condition that she didn't have the stamina to mourn the death of another child. She just couldn't do it. She felt numb, and stretched out, and beaten down, like some old weathered statue with no more sharp corners.

"Dr. Yang… Cristina, we did everything we could've done."

She had tried so hard to save him. It wasn't just her trial on the line, but her place in this foreign country, and her purpose as a surgeon. Deaths were bound to pile up around her because of what she was tackling, and no one blamed her – no one expected those kids to live in the first place. Vinny should've been dead by now, but her conduit had saved him; her device, her placement, and the careful monitoring she'd installed in his local hospital. It should've given him an entire life. She felt responsible for his death, even when no one blamed her. Her conduit had failed him, and she couldn't even wake herself up enough to be sad about it.

"I need you to tell me that you're okay, or I'll just keep asking," Shane warned. He was beside her on the bed, his elbow jammed into the pillow, his dark eyes on her face.

She rolled on her side, mimicking his position and staring back at him. She mustered a partial smile. "Did you expect me to have a break down?"

"You're sad."

"Of course I'm sad. He was two years old. I had his heart in my hands when it stopped beating." She sighed, folding up her arm and resting on top of it. She let her eyes roll shut. "I was the one who told his parents my miracle trial didn't save him after all."

"It's not a miracle trial – it's science. It's flesh and blood and muscle tissue. It's not the trial that killed him. He was born with something that can't be fixed, and you tried – if you hadn't he would be dead already. He got a month longer because of you."

"One month," she said. "I wanted to give him decades."

He took a deep breath. She opened her eyes, finding an impatient, insistent look on his face. "We can't save everyone. We did everything we could."

"Stop repeating that intern crap to me," Cristina snapped. "So far I've killed more patients than I've saved with this trial."

"They would've died anyway!" his voice boomed for a split second before he reeled himself in. He looked past her, sighing, and then he edged closer, his voice urgent. "They would've died anyway. You're giving them a chance. You shouldn't give up-"

"I didn't say I was giving up." She pulled out her phone, flicking through her photos and showing it to him. "Janice Murphy… Damien Cocks… Artie McAllister. They're still alive. Their parents send me pictures. Janice is almost two and she's finally walking. Damien is in Kindergarten this year. They're walking around with our conduits in their chests – they're walking around because we saved them from certain death."

"But you said-"

"I'm sad, Shane, and bitter. Just let me be sad and bitter. Don't assume I'm packing up and running away because a patient died. I'm not skittish. I can handle this."

He looked at her for a moment, doubtful, and then a hesitant smile spread on his face. "Good. So you were venting? Venting is good. As long as you're not… you know… quitting."

"You're a good vent-monkey by the way. Keep up the good work."

His grin broadened. "You know, I think we're friends now."

"You are now _uninvited_ – get off of the bed."

He didn't move, and she didn't make him. She'd been a little buried with the unfamiliar over the past few months, and though she was excellent at adapting, she enjoyed the familiarity he gave her. He was an old face, in a sea of new ones.

She stared at him for a moment, debating, and then she scooted over to his side of the bed and curled up against his chest. He was stiff for a moment, uncertain of how much he could get away with, but he eventually relaxed and rolled onto his back, pulling one arm tightly around her. His hand flattened across her shoulder blade. It was quiet, and he was warm, and he smelled like cinnamon from the coffee a patient had chucked at him that afternoon. It would have been easy to sleep, knowing now that she was safe with someone familiar, someone she had known for years.

She could have slept, and her throbbing head was begging her to do just that, but she kept herself from it. She could see her life flashing by her, but she skipped over her childhood and college. She went straight to her intern year, when she was battling for OR time like a banshee with a scalpel. It brought a smile to her face.

"Do you miss being an intern?" she wondered aloud.

Shane took a long, deep breath. "I hated being an intern."

"It wasn't so bad. But I guess I had Meredith. If you cut past the drama it was a good year."

"If you cut past the drama it was thirty seconds."

She laughed. "That is… disturbingly accurate."

"So I'm not useless anymore?"

"I never said you were useless."

"You say it at least three times a day."

"Well… I never meant it."

"I'm holding you to that."

She sat up a little, folding her arms on his chest to look at his face. His eyes were closed. "Shane… do you regret coming here?"

"No."

"Don't you miss your family? Your friends?"

He was silent for a moment, and then he responded, "Don't have any."

"Family, or friends?"

"Neither. Both."

"Lucky bastard."

His eyes opened briefly and he glanced at the window, squinting into the moonlight. "What about you? Family? I know you have friends in Seattle."

"Just my mom and my step-dad. I never saw them much anyway."

"I guess we're kind of the same."

"Shut your mouth."

He grinned. "Sorry."

For a while the room was silent. Cristina laid her head back down on his chest, staring out the window, trying to see through the layer of fog hanging over everything. Her apartment was a hell of a lot nicer than when they had first arrived – now full of furniture, heated, and repainted – but it still felt strange and cold to her.

One month was not enough to call this place home.


	23. Little Bird

**Little Bird.**

**October 5, 2014.**

**Zurich, Switzerland**.

She took a breath that got caught in her throat. It seemed liked the only thing she could hold onto. In the darkening hours before dusk, with the light of the setting sun, and the rising moon, throwing shadows across the state-of-the-art, top of the line equipment, her patient was dying. She writhed in bed, full of fever, barely aware of her surroundings. Cristina saw now what her friend had been trying to warn her about. She was just so small. She was barely a spec in that bed. She was thin and weak, and she hadn't been able to grow like she was meant to, and her body was rejecting growth even now, even when she needed it the most. She was breaking down on a chemical level, falling under the relentless assault of whatever pathogen had found her.

Cristina could do little for her but ease her suffering. She sat by her bedside, leaning over the railing, running a chilled cloth over her veiny forehead. She had a cocktail of painkillers, their doses infinitesimal to adults, dripping into her IV. At this point she couldn't feel much, only a little discomfort from her fever. It was best that way.

She wasn't alone in the room, but surrounded by a staff ready to bring the girl back should her heart stop beating again. They were biding time until her parents returned to say their goodbyes. Only two days ago the signs of infection had been diminished, and Cristina believed she was on the road to recovery, but now that those lines were cast, now that she had reassured her parents of the inevitability of a long life, she had to reel in all that she had caught. Threats of lawsuits, threats of death, threats of retribution. It rolled over her, but it never settled.

She was thinking of her uncertain future when the baby finally opened her eyes. It was strange to look at her, because the fever, the infection, and the stress of it all had severely damaged her appearance. Her hair, once so lively and curly, was flat and stringy. Her porcelain skin was covered in blue veins. It was her eyes that changed the most dramatically, though.

Blue as cornflower, and bright as ever. Her eyes opened wider than before, and the white around the iris was much whiter. It contrasted with her dull skin and made her appear ghostly. Cristina had never seen her so afraid, so it was appropriate that she should look like a phantom. She was going to be haunting her for a very long time.

"Hey," Cristina whispered, running her finger over the baby's cheek. Holly grasped it with both hands, holding it to her neck. She was burning up. "I know," she said, responding to the distressed look Holly gave her. "I know you feel bad."

Holly reached her arms out, her lips puckering, and Cristina had no choice but to pick her up. She held her more delicately than ever, sinking back into her chair and holding the wet cloth over the little girl's forehead. Holly moved very little, only stirring when Cristina stopped rubbing her back. She was starting to cool down as the medicine did its thing.

Hours passed and brought them into nighttime. Holly reached her hand toward the bed when one of the doctors turned the overhead lights on. She was stretching her fingers toward the little stuffed bird tucked halfway under the pillow.

Cristina retrieved it and handed it to her.

"I think you can go for the moment," Cristina told her staffers, dismissing them with a flick of her wrist. She watched them go, trying to appear confident, but when the door closed she felt the weight of it settle on her. She was being selfish. She didn't want them to see her like this.

Holly twisted in her arms, pressing the stuffed animal to Cristina's face and knitting her little brow together. She wiggled it around. "Bird?"

Cristina smiled. "Yeah. Little bird."

"Little bird," Holly repeated.

For a while things didn't change. She sat there and Holly laid in her arms, occasionally asking her to repeat the name of the animal, and then snuggling back up like a kitten. Shane appeared in the doorway around midnight, but he stayed outside, a sad look on his young face. She tried not to think about it – what he was waiting for – but she knew exactly what it was. He was there with a bucket to scoop her up when she melted into the floor. It was exactly what Meredith had predicted.

But it didn't have to be so violent.

Suddenly the baby began convulsing, every muscle tensing at the same time. She almost fell out of Cristina's arms. Cristina dropped her in bed, rolling her on her side to keep her from choking. She could hardly hold the girl still without breaking her tiny bones.

"Shane!" she screamed, throwing the back rails down and struggling to get a handle on the situation. Her resident burst into the room and came to the other side, dropping his rails as well. He took her head in both hands.

When the convulsions stopped, so did her heart.

Cristina flattened her and started manual compression, looking up as the staff she had dismissed came sprinting into the room. Electricity could not save her. She was beyond that. She was tipping over the edge.

For a moment the monitors picked up activity, and the little girl woke up crying, doing her best to get away from the crowd that had surrounded her. Cristina leaned over her, trying to show her the bird to calm her. She wanted to be held. "Hey, look, look at the little bird," Cristina urged, leaning as far as she could into the bed to get her arm around the frantic baby. "Look, little bird."

Holly gasped for breath. Her stats were falling again. She looked at Cristina for a split second with those feverish blue eyes and responded, attempting a smile, "Little bird?"

She was gone. Cristina tried relentlessly to bring her back. She got a heartbeat seven times but it faded so quickly that the baby never woke up again. On the eighth time the line jumped, and then flattened. On the ninth time it didn't even stir. She had to step away, almost falling into the windowsill as she backpedaled. She was frozen in a state of horror.

She left the room before a few minutes had passed, unable to remain after calling the time of death. She rushed down the hallway, going nowhere in particular, until she heard Shane coming after her. She decided on her office, keeping up a quick pace until she was at her window overlooking the parking lot. Everything was normal outside. Everything seemed fine under the security lights. It didn't look like the world was ending. It wasn't the cataclysm she had hoped for.

Shane hovered in her doorway. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"In your _minivan_?" she mocked, glancing at him, but catching a look at herself in the mirror on the far wall. She had tears pouring down her face. She looked awful. "Go away Shane."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine, then I'll go." She shoved her way past him, heading for the elevators. She had nowhere and nothing in mind but she didn't want to be here.

He followed her, doing his best to get punched in the face. She locked her car doors before he could get in, glaring at him while she pulled away. It was better for him. She wasn't in the mood to coddle him, and if she hung around the Institute any longer she might just run him over. She was sick of this. She was sick of death. She was sick of being sad.

She needed to forget about it.

XxX

She ended up in a warm, crowded bar near the airport. It was one of those places covered in neon signs and glowing paint, and the music blared from speakers in virtually every corner, so she could focus on something other than the knots twisting up in her stomach. Despite her efforts, thoughts of Holly produced a stream of tears on her face. She just let them flow, tired of battling them, and ordered something strong to combat the memory of that girl's eyes.

She was only there for an hour, maybe less, when someone sat down beside her. She recognized the sulky, angry voice immediately.

"I thought you were working," Phyllis said to her, her words slurred. She looked awkward sitting on the barstool with a big lump of baby belly living under that black sweater. She ordered some light fruity drink and downed half of it as soon as the bartender set it in front of her.

Cristina grimaced. "I'm not in the mood to chat."

"Me either. I had another trial patient die today. You know I warned you about that place being a death factory but _geez_, that place is a death factory."

"Yeah… it is."

"On the plus side my trial is over, so… I guess I'll be out of your hair soon."

Cristina was silent, leaning heavily on her hand.

Phyllis mimicked her position, first watching her, and then watching the bartender shake some drinks around for a wild bunch of college kids. She was touching her stomach, though Cristina wasn't sure she knew she was doing it, and a thousand things seemed to be going through her mind. Finally she looked over at Cristina, determined, and said, "I'm pregnant."

"Shocker," Cristina responded coldly.

Phyllis didn't seem to notice her mood, or her response. Her voice sunk down to a level remnant of grief, of despair, and of loneliness. "I'm pregnant," she repeated. "There you have it. I'm pregnant, John is dead… Michael is… Michael is dead. I'm pregnant and I have nothing. My trial crapped out, and I… I have nothing. Can I work at the Institute, Cristina?"

There were so many places she could've gone. She was a premiere surgeon, sought after by programs all over the world, begged to volunteer and to work for millions of dollars, asked to perform miracles or routine procedures on the wealthiest and most influential people in the world. She could have gone anywhere, at any time, or just retired on the pile of money she had been saving and spent the rest of her life eating grapes on a tropical island.

She could have gone anywhere, but suddenly Cristina wanted her there. She was screwed up, sure, but she had become a somewhat reliable friend. She had the same darkness in her, the same drive, and Cristina admired it. She wanted to be near it. She wanted to learn from it.

She might have been taking advantage of the moment, of the loneliness in the creature in front of her, but her grief allowed her to see past her guilt. "Yeah. You can work there."

Phyllis nodded, sipping the rest of her drink and then putting her head down on the bar. Cristina looked doubtfully at the bump in her stomach, wondering if she would regret this drunken decision when she could think objectively again. She could only hope that this was the end of the pain for both of them. She could only hope that they were turning the page on a new chapter.

XxX

It was very late, or very early, when Shane finally tracked her down. He said nothing when he came in, hovering nearby like a loyal golden retriever. She could see her grief reflected in him but she had no interest in reawakening it. She was sober enough to recognize his concern for her, and his sadness, and her empathy for him, but at the same time she was too drunk to comfort him. It was too late in the night, and she had lost too much.

"Come on, let me take you home," he murmured, leaning close so his voice would reach her above the music. He sounded like he was barely awake, barely functioning.

She had the urge to shut him down and send him away, but she was exhausted. She had been up for the last three days trying to nurse Holly back to health. Now that it was over she felt like she was coming to the surface to breathe, no matter how toxic the air was. She looked over at Phyllis, who was less intoxicated, but a little more screwed up at the moment.

Phyllis looked up, hazy-eyed, and waved her on. "Go on. I'll call a cab later."

Cristina let thoughts of lying down, of stretching out her legs in the cool, plush comforter, drive her to her feet. Shane put his arm around her to keep her standing and he helped her stagger out of the bar, depositing her carefully in the front seat. He buckled her seatbelt and everything.

The next time she looked up they were parked in her driveway. Shane came to her side and opened her door, hanging there for a moment to look at her. "Can you walk?"

She couldn't find the release button on her seatbelt. "I can. Yeah. I'm good."

He reached around her and released it for her, helping her out and hauling her up the front steps. She leaned against the wall, looking at the neighbor's ugly welcome mat, while he got the door open. It was warm inside. Hot air came rushing out at her and she was drawn to it. She started stripping as she headed toward her bedroom, ignoring whatever Shane was saying and flopping down onto her bed. She rolled herself into a blanket burrito.

Shane appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, shrugging off his coat and tossing it into his room – the one across the hall. He never did find an apartment of his own. He had an odd expression on his face, part sadness, part apprehension, and part affection.

"You know where to find me if you need me," he said.

He pulled her door shut. She rolled over to look out the window, once more mesmerized by the view she had of this beautiful city. She had come full circle to another full moon and it hung spectacularly in this foreign sky. She didn't want to see it, though, because it was too beautiful. Nothing should've been beautiful that night. It was too dark inside of her. She couldn't stand to look at the good part of the world, with all of the bad hanging over her.

She left her room and stumbled across the hall. She crawled into his bed. He had no view of the moon, only the pine trees, and she could handle that. It was much darker here.

She watched his face in the darkness, wondering what was on his mind. He was young, after all, barely a doctor by her standards. He had seen death, faced it, and overcome it on many occasions, but he had also lost patients and friends. It was effecting him, too. It was a horrible death, an awful thing to see, an awful thing to be close to, and she could see it replaying in him.

She reached over and touched his arm, and then his cheek, twisting her hand to find a tear dripping down her finger. "Shane…"

"I'm okay, I'm fine," he said, pulling the blankets up to his face to wipe away his tears. He sniffled, looking away from her. "Go to sleep."

He had learned that from her, and she wasn't sure if that was something she should be proud of. She sat up on her elbow and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his damp cheek. "It gets better," she promised. She knew it was logical, that she would, with time, come to forget what had happened today, but part of her refused to accept it. Part of her felt that she would always hurt like this. "I know it doesn't… it doesn't seem like it will, but it does. Trust me."

"Give me something else to think about."

"I told Phyllis she could work at the Institute."

He groaned, rolling his eyes. The motion made more tears slip down his face, but he seemed distracted enough. "Come on, she was _leaving_. I was so close to freedom."

"I felt sorry for her, I guess. You won't be working with her, anyway. We have more patients coming in next week and I need you full time. You won't be her scut monkey. Rejoice."

She almost thought the topic was changed, but he slipped back into it almost immediately. "Mr. and Ms. Vaughn got there an hour after you left. I think they might-"

"Sue me? Yeah, they made that clear on the phone." She slid closer, curling up on his side again. It was quickly becoming her favorite place to sleep. It was nice to have someone put their arms around her, so she knew she wasn't going to float away. "I think Ms. Vaughn threatened to kill me in Romanian. Is Romanian a language?"

"Yes."

"I don't care if they sue me. I don't care about anything."

"Me either."

"We should find a bridge to jump off of in the morning."

"I'll work on that."

"You're a good friend, Shane."


	24. Reunion

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in uploads – they've been working me like a dog for the last two weeks. I'm never in the mood to write when I get off. I do have a treat in store for making you wait, so I hope you can forgive me for it.**

**XxX**

**Reunion.**

**December 25, 2014.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"I don't understand the point of these."

"You put the candy cane in and you tie the little bow so the plastic keeps the candy from falling out. Look, see how I did mine? It's cute."

"I know how to make them, I just don't get _why_ we're making them."

"Because we need cute little party favors to give out. Good hosts give out party favors."

"We should give them alcohol. Everyone needs more of that."

Meredith laughed, setting down the last of her plastic-covered mugs and stretching her legs out under the coffee table. She looked exhausted, but also radiant. She was swimming in happiness despite the rocky patch she and Derek had been going through. Somehow she put it all aside for the holiday. Cristina envied her for that.

"I wish we could go back," Meredith said wistfully, starting in on the pile Cristina was supposed to be wrapping. She unwrapped one of the candy canes and snapped it in half, handing the smaller piece to Cristina. "Getting drunk, spending inordinate amounts of time lying on the bathroom floor. But my tiny peeps need me. I kind of get why Derek's mom always says you don't grow up until you have kids – before that, you can still be a kid all the time, but now I'm a mom all the time, and Derek is a dad all the time, and we have to be responsible. So no alcohol."

Cristina bit off part of her candy, wincing when a sharp edge dug into her gum. "I feel like that was an unnecessarily long response. You could have just said 'no.'"

"I'm imparting wisdom," Meredith responded, waving her hands like she was trying to waft her wisdom in Cristina's direction.

Suddenly a door down the hall opened and an eighteen-month-old boy came peeling toward them wearing nothing but a spaceship-themed diaper. He slid dramatically on the wood and dove into his mother's arms, holding onto a baby doll like his life depended on it. He had tears in his eyes and his little lip was trembling. He was seeking protection.

Zola came after him, stopping by the coffee table and putting her hands on her teeny hips. She looked remarkably like her mother, from her expression to her posture. "Bailey," she said in a huff, pointing her tiny finger, "Give that baby to me."

Bailey buried his face in his mother's shoulder, whimpering again, and Meredith rolled her eyes. She pulled him to her knees and took his face in her hands. "You know you have to give it back."

"Is it tantrum time already? It's barely four," Cristina commented.

Meredith glanced at her, cringing as she wrestled the doll out of her son's grip. He caterwauled, outraged, and careened backward, throwing his arms out in every direction. Meredith deposited the irritated toddler on the couch and gave the doll back to Zola. She spoke over the screaming. "We should set the mugs on the counter so when people come in they can see how good I am at hosting!"

Cristina shrugged, gathering up an armful and arranging them on the kitchen counter. By the time she was done, Zola had managed to calm her brother down by giving the doll back to him.

"I'm gonna get you, Bailey," Zola said, putting her hands up like claws. She reached for his stomach, making growling sounds, and then waited patiently while he climbed off the couch. She chased him through the house at half-speed, grinning at the approving nod her mother gave her.

Cristina nudged her friend's shoulder. "She is a tiny you. That must really bum Derek out. He tried to hard to influence her, and just look at what it got him."

"Bailey could still go in his direction, but I doubt it," Meredith said, pride glimmering on her face. "Kids like to emulate the alpha of the household, and that is obviously me. If you had a kid, you know it would act like you. We're just fierce like that. It's the natural order."

Meredith jumped a little when her phone dinged. She bit her lip as she pulled it out, swiping a complicated unlocking pattern to get to the message. "Zola keeps stealing this in the middle of the night – she actually ordered pizza once. She knows how to do that. How scary is that?" She paused to read, her smile fading into uncertainty. "It's, uh, Owen."

"Oh." Cristina went for nonchalant, but it didn't work out for her. "Is he… is he coming?"

"He said he would try to make it, if he didn't get held up by anything."

"Does he know… that I'm here?"

"I might have mentioned it."

"What did he say… about me?"

"He just kind of… looked at me in that way – you know the way, like he's sad, or thinking, or whatever. I can't describe it. I think he wants to see you. He seemed like he wanted to." She stopped abruptly, perhaps realizing that she was babbling, and then she put a hand on Cristina's shoulder. "I guess the real question is, do you want to see him?"

It was a loaded question, and Cristina had a few different answers for it, but she could only shrug to her friend and hope that was enough. She got out of the conversation by joining the game the kids were playing, assuming the role of giant monster and chasing them through the house, around the yard, and down the driveway. Because of this, she was the first one to notice Arizona and Callie driving up. Callie parked alongside Derek's car and the family of three piled out.

"Ahoy," Cristina said, saluting them as they approached.

Arizona was holding Sofia's hand, but she was quickly ditched when Sofia saw Zola. "It's good to see you somewhere other than raiding my fridge," Arizona said, smiling as brightly and happily as ever. Cristina had spent the good part of the previous day loitering at their house waiting for Meredith to get off work. "Do you really have to go tonight? You can stay at our place – I was just kidding about calling the police on you. Sofia loves having you around and I know I love it."

"Hey, whoa, don't put that out there," Callie said, breathing deeply and tilting her head toward the house. "Is that… do I smell barbeque sauce?"

"What would Christmas be without ribs?" Cristina said.

Before the women could respond, another car appeared in the driveway. It slowed as the children passed in front of it and then jerked to a stop in the grass. Four doors popped open and three residents and an attending stepped out. She had a soft spot for the big guy.

He had a grin on his face as he approached, wrapping her in an uncharacteristic bear hug and lifting her off the ground. She laughed, tapping out on his shoulder. When he released her, she patted his arm, frowning. "Evil spawn, have you been juicing?"

"I have a weight set in the living room," he explained. "How the hell you been, Yang? Why didn't you tell me you'd be here?"

"I did – I called, remember? You might have been sleeping."

"God, you look like crap. What did you do, walk here?"

"At least I look like an adult – you know, you don't have to get your face waxed _every _day."

He smiled, glancing at the other women, "Did they tell you about this new cardio chick? She has no backbone. It's like working with a kindergartener."

"Aw, Alex, are you begging me to come back?"

"I'm just sayin.' For all I care, you can stay in Switzerland until you're pruney."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" she teased.

"Okay, kids," Arizona intervened, motioning toward the house. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but it's freezing out here. Can we continue this discussion inside?"

Cristina followed them in, dodging to the side when the kids rushed through the door. Meredith met them in the kitchen, motioning to the mugs. "Did you see the mugs?"

"Very cute," Jo said. She still looked like a child to Cristina, but she sensed a hardness in her that hadn't existed before. Perhaps she was shaping up under the direction of Meredith and the other attendings – or perhaps there was some drama with Alex she didn't know about.

Alex walked over and examined one of the mugs, shrugging. "I have cups at home."

Meredith glared at him. "You'll take a mug and you'll like it."

It didn't take long for the party to fill up with medical professionals. Soon big Bailey was crooning over little Bailey, Tucker was being harassed by the little girls, and Arizona was trying to keep them all from tearing the house down. Her old coworkers were a sight for sore eyes, and even the ones she didn't like gave her a joyful nostalgia.

Somehow their innocent Christmas gathering became a forum of storytelling, and most stories involved devastating injuries and incredible surgeries. When she got the floor Cristina told Swiss horror stories, going into detail about the horrifying friendliness of the people, the irritating picturesque beauty of virtually every corner of Zurich, and the rare conditions that she had personally studied at the Institute. Derek entertained the room with a tale about a man who had an arrow split his brain in half – a tale that ended with the patient surviving. Their host was the last to speak, giving everyone a riveting account of her tangle with two dastardly colons.

She moved into the night with immense joy – surrounded by laughter and familiar faces it was hard not to get sucked in – but she also wondered if Owen would come through that door, and what she might say to him if he did. It kept her a little on edge, so much so that she accidentally agreed to be a bank robber who had to be foiled by the tiny humans.

She had been caught fifteen times when she made her escape into the night air, standing on the back porch with Derek and warming her hands on the little fire pit he was tending. It was wickedly cold out, but it was quiet, and she needed a little bit of that.

"Zola is so happy you're here," Derek commented, prodding a log with his fire poker and causing it to break into two pieces. Embers danced in the air.

Cristina nodded. "I wish I could stay."

"Do you?"

She looked over, frowning. "What?"

"Do you really wish you could stay?"

"I was just… it's just something you say," Cristina defended. "I wish I was in the position… to decide that. But I can't. I have an Institute to run. I have patients who need me to survive."

"But if you didn't, you would stay here with us?"

"Derek, I don't want to break your heart here, but I'm not into the whole sister-wives thing."

He laughed. "I meant to say that if you did want to come back to Seattle, that if you came back one day, that you would always have a place here. You're family."

"There were so many less creepy ways to say that."

He hung the poker on the rack behind him, nodding. "Yeah. I've had too much punch."

There was a knock on the glass door that separated them from the inside. Cristina looked up and her breath caught. It was Owen. He was standing there, smiling like she had said goodbye a week ago, not four months ago. He was so… _Owen_. From his smile to the thick brown jacket he wore. It was like her dream had taken form.

He came out, greeting Derek with a nod, but not looking away from her. He came to stand by her, his hands in his coat pockets, and smiled a little gentler. "Cristina."

"Owen," she responded, melting at the way he said her name.

"I'm gonna go have some more punch," Derek said, excusing himself. He shut the glass door behind him, and Cristina saw the curtain slide shut.

"You look… the same as you did when you left," Owen said. His voice shook her from her stupor. She had forgotten how pretty his eyes were. The firelight was dancing on his face, in his expression, and she was trapped in a memory. He was looking at her with all of the affection, all of the kindness, that he had that last morning they'd spent together in his trailer. It was almost like no time had passed. Seeing him cleared away the clutter of her new life – the death, the responsibilities, the sadness – and brought back the good days.

She kept her eyes on him, aware that, at this point, she looked like an enamored teenager. She could really care less. "So do you. No, I'm lying, you missed a few meals."

"I get a little consumed in my work," he admitted.

"Derek made ribs."

"Meredith told me." He chuckled an old, easy Owen kind of chuckle, and then he edge a little closer to her, mimicking her private posture. "How are you? How have you been?"

"Fine. Everything's fine. I'm fine."

"If you use the word 'fine' three times in your answer, you're not fine."

"I lost a patient." She couldn't fathom why the words left her mouth. She had been avoiding the topic since the little girl had died, refusing to bring it up or acknowledge it when Shane dared to question her. She had shut the topic down when Meredith tried to breach it. Now it just slipped from her lips, as casually as a grievance about a broken toaster.

His expression was unchanged – concern, loyalty, empathy. He was the king of layered looks. He was quiet for a moment, thinking about her words, and then he smiled softly. He saw the reasons behind her sadness, like someone had coached him. He looked into her and responded to her pain. "How old was she?"

"One." Her voice broke a little around the word. She did her best to reign it in. "Her name was… she was part of my trial. She had an infection and she was too weak to fight it."

Owen nodded slowly. "I don't have to tell you that it gets better."

She nodded. "Of course not."

"I don't have to remind you that you're a great doctor, doing great things for those kids."

"You don't," she agreed.

"If you need to talk-"

"I don't," she said, cutting him off. She forced a smile, prodding his chest with one finger. "Now you get to tell me how you've been. What's new? How's the foot?"

He grimaced. "Who told you? I specifically told them not to tell you."

She forgot about the cold. She was consumed in his voice, in his animated stories about the hospital and his irritation with walking around on crutches. She could tell he was happy, and it drew her in. It lightened her spirit to see him that way, but it also hurt because she was not a part of it. She had found her way to the outside.

"There was one thing I wanted to tell you, before all of this ends," he said, glancing around them to make sure they were alone. "I don't know if she had a chance to make it over here earlier – you know Amelia, right? Derek's sister?"

"She was here this morning, wrapping mugs in plastic," Cristina recalled.

"Yeah, well, she and I… we're sort of… well, we might be… I'm kind of unsure right now, about the whole thing, but I think we're sort of… friends."

Christina flashed back to the feisty brunette who had been her tag team partner in baby wrestling that morning. She wasn't sure how she should respond to this information. Her first thought was to go primal ex-wife and knock out the competition. Her second thought was of killing Meredith for not telling her. Her third thought, and the most consuming of them all, was about his happiness. He just seemed so… happy. He was glowing like a bride-to-be.

She managed a smile to ease the worry on his face. "Wow… I never thought… I'm happy for you. She… um, she seems nice. She sucks at wrapping, though."

"Yeah," he responded, his eyes glimmering, "She does suck at wrapping." He was quiet for a moment, and then he scratched the back of his head and dove in again. "So, are you and Ross still living together? Meredith told me he was staying in your apartment."

Strike two on Meredith's life. "He is, yeah. Well, it's kind of _our_ apartment now."

"So you two are together?"

"God no," she responded immediately, holding up her hand. "_No_. Shane is cute and all, but _no_. It's like having a dog. I pay the rent, he shovels the driveway every morning."

"Do you really have to shovel it every morning?"

She shrugged. "I don't get up that early. I'm the boss, remember?"

"So… when do you go back?"

"Uh, tonight, actually. I have a patient who isn't doing so hot. Her vitals improved a few hours ago so I have to get her on the table. Shane needs a break from babysitting, too."

He seemed to drift closer, and she responded the same way, drawn to him. He was as warm as the fire burning at their feet, his face growing darker as the flames died down. She had nothing on her mind aside from the desire to kiss him, just one last time, and from the look in his eyes she knew he felt the same way. It was their curse.

Before gravity could pull them together, the door jerked open and the kids rushed out, using them as human shields to escape an amused toddler. Cristina jerked away from Owen, smiling at Zola, who was bouncing around behind her. She cleared her throat, putting her hand on her former lover's arm and shaking her head.

He nodded, his eyes smoldering, and went inside. He was pursued by the kids, who took it as a sign of weakness, but Zola remained where she was. She put her hands up to Cristina, and when Cristina picked her up, she gave her a gentle hug. "You are so Meredith's daughter," Cristina commented, pressing a kiss to the little girl's head.

"Why are you crying?" Zola asked, drawing away a little.

Cristina hastily wiped her face. "I'm not, I… I just… it's cold out here, let's get you inside before you freeze to death." She wiped her face again, sniffling, and slid into the house. She searched the crowd of faces and found Owen by the door. He was watching her, a sweet, but resolved look on his face. He nodded to her, giving her a sad smile, and then he left.

She said her goodbyes to the others as they cleared the house, giving out hugs in a show of the holiday spirit. In truth, it felt good to be hugged by someone she really cared for. Since she had left she had felt very little in the way of friendship, aside from her resident. Callie tried her best to split her into two pieces, crying half because she was sad, and half because she was pretty smashed and Meredith had stopped refilling the punch bowl. She even got a hug from grown up Bailey, who was usually just as opposed to it as she was.

She said goodbye to them knowing that she would see them again, one way or another. She would spend a few more hours with Meredith, Derek, and the kids, and when she was gone she would talk to Zola almost every day, and listen to Meredith rant about the stupid things Derek did. She would send Alex pictures of sombreros she thought would complement his wombat ears, and she and Callie would exchange broken bones to fuel their gore-loving hearts.

She knew she would see them, or speak to them, so it didn't hurt to part with them. It hurt when the house cleared, and she remembered that Owen was gone. She was unsure about him. He was the wildcard in her life. If she saw him again, things might be very different between them.

She stood in the doorway with Meredith, watching Alex drive away with three drunk residents. She waited until his taillights were at the end of the driveway.

"What if he gets remarried?"

"Alex?"

"Owen."

Meredith took a deep breath, pulling the door shut and ushering her into the living room. "Well, then Derek will have a new brother-in-law, and my kids will have a new uncle."

"What if he has kids with her, and he's happy, and… I'm just…"

"You're what?"

"What if I'm still… like I am right now? What if I'm the exact same person, and everyone else is changing and growing and all that crap? What if I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life? What if I… what if I'm never happy, Mer?"

"If you're not happy in Switzerland, you'll come live here."

"What is it with you two and moving me into your house?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. You and Derek are enablers. Stop trying to put me back in the nest."

Meredith held both of her shoulders, her voice gentle, but insistent. "You will be happy, Christina Yang. Do you hear me? _Happy_. Because you are awesome, and other people know that you're awesome. You run a billion-dollar research institute in Switzerland! You are the queen of cardio!"

Cristina watched her doubtfully.

Her friend held up one finger, ran into the bedroom, and then skidded back into the living room with a small box in her hands. She handed it to Cristina, smiling. She presented it like she was giving Cristina the key to the city. "Here. I know we said no presents, but I got you this."

Cristina took it, unsure, and pulled the paper off. She popped the little cardboard box open and pulled a snow globe out. It was a miniature version of Seattle with snow fluttering around it.

"I know it's cheesy, and it probably won't get past airport security, but I thought maybe it could remind you of us when you feel like the world is taking a big dump on you."

Cristina wrapped her in a hug, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "It's perfect," she whispered. "Thanks, Mer."

"I'll drive you to the airport," Meredith murmured.

"I think… I think it's okay, if he moves on," Cristina said, clutching the snow globe in one hand. She went to the guest room and hauled her suitcase out, meeting her friend at the door. She looked down at her little city, finally starting to shake the darkness that had been pursuing her for months. "I think… I think I'll be okay, Mer."


	25. Collin

**Burning.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

**February 6, 2015.**

"I'm just saying, if you keep running around with a caterpillar on your face no one will take you seriously. I swear that thing is gonna grow wings if you let it live on your lip much longer."

"It keeps my face warm," Shane responded, putting as little effort into his answer as she did into her criticism. He was so accustomed to it that it amounted to small talk. "I have the third conduit, if you wanted to try that one. We could use the stretching method."

Cristina debated, and then shrugged. "We might as well. I don't think Helga minds."

"I got it." Shane retrieved the little device and put the conduit on it, carefully working the handles to increase the girth of the printed tissue. "I think you should worry less about my facial hair, and more about your obsession with Swiss chocolate. I found the stash under the couch."

She walked around him, watching his progress. He had mastered the skill weeks ago, and she was proud to watch him use it. "I think you should stop snooping before you find something you don't like," she advised, using a thin pair of tweezers to keep the conduit from cracking. She sighed when a fine line appeared down the middle. "Damnit. I guess we take the low road."

She set her instrument down and scribbled the new specs on a scrap of paper, handing them to one of the hovering nurses. Soon a new conduit would start printing, and it would be a much better fit for the malformed heart on the table.

"It was pretty close for a trial run," Shane said. He was already closing the patient, running a line of immaculate stitches across her tiny chest. "I guess you were right about the conduit shape."

"Thankfully she's the exception, not the rule."

Someone banged on the observation glass above them. Shane stopped in the middle of a stitch and everyone looked up. Cristina cringed at the sight of Phyllis Danforth, who was extremely pregnant and intermittently furious with the world. Cristina had been avoiding her for the last week because and pregnant women deterred her like Broadway musicals.

Phyllis beckoned her.

"I can handle this," Shane said, his voice just amused enough to be annoying.

She stepped away from the table, sighing. "Get her into recovery."

"Will do."

She scrubbed out as slowly as she could manage, and then braced herself as she stepped outside. She did not expect what she found. Phyllis was disheveled. Her eyes were red, her cheeks were flushed, and she smelled like a liquor store. She was wearing half a hoagie on her frilly pink sweater. She looked exhausted, upset, and totally smashed.

"Have you been drinking? We talked about that."

Phyllis shrugged, turning one way, and then deciding on the other direction. She tottered with every step. Cristina walked beside her. "I did drink something, but only for the pain."

"Pain?"

"It's these damn contractions."

Cristina froze in place. "What?"

"I'm in labor," Phyllis announced, not enthusiastic about the situation. "I was coming to check on my patients when the contractions started. I made a pit stop."

Cristina took her arm and urged her to the nearest wheelchair. Phyllis had trouble sitting down. She wheeled her toward the trial wing, where she knew there were a few empty beds. "It didn't occur to you to go to a _hospital_?"

"I am in a hospital."

"We do hearts and lungs, not vaginas," Cristina growled. She grabbed nurses as she went, sending them to raid the supply closets in preparation for childbirth.

She got Phyllis into a bed and paged the only person she could think off. Soon the room was full of nurses doing prep work for delivery. Within minutes of her page, Doctor Reyes, a pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon from Barcelona, had joined her at the bedside. She had made a career out of delivering very sick babies and then cracking their ribs open on tiny operating tables. She had a few decades more practice delivering babies than Cristina.

Phyllis made a quick transformation from a disorderly, sarcastic drunk to a rampaging lunatic. She started writhing around, trying to get out of bed, screaming nonsense at the nurses. She had a wild light in her eyes, like something had snapped inside.

"Doctor Danforth," Reyes said, commanding the attention of everyone but the expecting mother. She put her hand over Phyllis' stomach, and then checked between her legs. "I need you to calm down! She is in transition! We need to calm her down now!"

Phyllis was panicking. She was throwing her head from side to side. She seemed to have lost the buzz of alcohol, and now the pain had awakened something else. It wasn't sarcastic celebration, or anger, or even sadness. It was complete and utter devastation. She grabbed Cristina's arm and pulled her closer, shaking her head, trembling.

"I don't want it, I don't want it," she insisted, tears brewing in her eyes. "I don't want this. Please, make this stop. I don't _want_ it! I don't _want_ it!"

"It's time to push," Reyes said, working with the nurses to keep the woman on the table. "Doctor Danforth, I need you to push now. I need you to help me. Everything is going to be fine. Your baby is going to be fine. Just calm down and breathe for me."

Phyllis seemed oblivious to the pleas of the surgeon. She was still holding Cristina, her hand locked on so tightly that Cristina could feel it bruising her. Phyllis was unraveling like an open book. She was far away from them, reliving something else, panicking because of something else. Cristina looked into her pain, into her sorrow, and her heart twisted.

She didn't know what she should say. She spoke, her voice low and urgent, but her words were gibberish in her own ears. "Just do this now, and we'll handle it later. Just do this now."

Phyllis broke off into labored breathing. She groaned. "I can't. I don't want it."

"Just do this now," Cristina pleaded. She had nothing else to say. She knew what Phyllis was saying – she didn't want the baby, she didn't want to be giving birth to the child of the husband she had lost, and the sibling of the son she had loved – but she didn't know what to do about it. She just had to get her through this. She had to get the ball rolling on this, or Phyllis wouldn't live to regret it.

XxX

Hours passed. She begged to be sedated, but they were beyond that stage. Cristina sat beside her and listened to her screaming, trying to convince her to go on with those four words. _Just do this now_. She heard the name John slip into her frantic murmurings more than a few times. Cristina gathered that she thought she was being punished – that he was punishing her.

When it was finally over, there was more concern for the state of the mother than the state of the baby. It came out squalling, writhing around, its whole body red from its journey through the birth canal. Reyes cut the cord, wrapped it up, and shoved it into Cristina's arms, turning back to help the nurses put restraints on Phyllis. She was floundering on the bed, moving from panic and pain to tormenting despair. She was screaming like she was dying.

Cristina stepped away from them, using the towel to wipe the blood from its face. It was a boy. He was a healthy weight, he had already opened his eyes, and he flung his limbs strongly in every direction, announcing his contempt with the world and making her ears ring. He was competing with the screaming his mother was doing, but she was drowning him out.

She ducked outside, bouncing the baby in her arms, trying to calm him while still keeping an eye on what was happening with Phyllis. She was scared, her hands were trembling, and her stomach was twisting up into knots – it reminded her of when Meredith had almost drowned. It was an awful way to feel. It was an awful memory to live with.

Shane arrived moments after the birth. He went to the door first, trying to see what was going on, and then he came over to her. He flicked the blanket back and stared at the baby.

He didn't seem to know how to breach the subject. He just hovered near her like a kid, waiting for her to make a move, so he would know what to do. She sat in one of the chairs in the hallway, absently rocking the baby in her arms. "She… uh… she's suffering."

"Is she… dying?"

"No, not physically."

He looked up at the door again, empathy in his young eyes. He had a bleeding heart sometimes, and the good side of him came out when she expected it the least. He hated Phyllis – he talked about how much he hated her almost every day – and yet his eyes reflected like glass, and his posture showed a desire to help. He was a sweet kid, despite it all.

"She said she doesn't want it," Cristina told him, looking down at the baby. He had stopped crying, and he was gazing up at her with wide blue eyes, clouded by his recent trauma.

Shane took a deep breath. "I think they sedated her."

"She said she doesn't want him," Cristina repeated. "She doesn't want him, but he's here. Where does that leave him? What happens to him?"

She already knew the answers to those questions, but like a child she had to ask. It was a moment of weakness. She had grown attached to Phyllis, to her crazy side, to her sarcastic side, to her sad side. What she had seen had disarmed her, and so she became a child again, and she asked childish questions. She felt like she was walking around in thick fog.

"She might put him up for adoption."

"Or smother him in his sleep."

Shane winced. "Don't say that."

Cristina leaned against his shoulder, half because she wanted to see into the room, and half because she needed something solid to pin her to the planet. Inside, the ruckus was settling and Phyllis was drifting off. She still looked distraught, even in her dreams.

Reyes came out slowly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She seemed as shaken by the whole thing as Cristina was. "I think she suffered a psychotic break."

"She lost her family," Shane said.

"I think we should put in a call to social services," Reyes responded.

Cristina shook her head. "Give her some time. She didn't… she's not… she just needs some time to calm down." She saw that her audience was not convinced, so she put an edge into her voice. "As your boss, I'm ordering you not to call social services."

"Well, does she have any family? Anyone we can contact?"

"She doesn't have anyone," Cristina said. "Shane, get in touch with the University Hospital, have them send over an ambulance to transport her. She can't stay here, and neither can the baby."

Shane pulled out his phone and started pacing in the hallway, speaking rapidly to whoever was running the emergency room at the hospital. Reyes hovered for a little while, unsure of the situation, and then she went back to work, asking Cristina to give her an update when Phyllis was transferred. Cristina stayed where she was, watching Phyllis and wondering how she had known her for six months, and she had failed to see this coming.

"I got an ETA of fifteen minutes." Shane came to stand by her, putting his hand on her shoulder. He looked distressed. "I can't believe this is happening. She seemed fine yesterday."

Cristina shrugged. She knew Phyllis was unhappy, but she had overestimated her strength. She was not the superhero Cristina had made her out to be. She seemed to be taking the death of her family and her pregnancy in stride, like it was water rolling over her windshield, but now that the baby was here, she unwound like an exposed nerve. It was all over her face. It was painfully obvious. She had been putting off the sorrow until now, and it had broken free when she had to face the fact that the baby was real, and that the rest of her family was gone.

It was strange to look at it from this side. Cristina had experienced similar pain. She had been in this state when Shane had first laid eyes on her, and yet he didn't seem to be drawing a correlation. She knew intense fear, and intense sadness, and she empathized with Phyllis.

She held the baby out of obligation, like she was meant to guard it until her friend could take over. She stood there loyally for twenty minutes until the paramedics came upstairs with their little stretcher and started unstrapping Phyllis. She followed them out, adding another blanket to the newborn to keep the cold from assaulting him. It was then that she realized she didn't want to let him go. It took less than half an hour to become protective.

"Here, I can take him," one of the paramedics assured her, holding out her arms and smiling at the tiny bundle of red skin and blankets. She took him easily against her chest. "He'll be admitted to the maternity ward with her. You can visit him in the nursery, if you want."

Cristina stepped back empty-handed, her arms already growing cold. She hadn't realized that the kid was a space heater. She helped close the ambulance doors and watched them drive off, a sinking feeling in her heart. She wondered how far over the edge Phyllis had gone, and if she would be able to make it back – not only as a friend, but as a mother. She wondered about the fate of the newborn, and what kind of life he might have if Phyllis kept him. She made it clear that she didn't want another child. He would grow up like Meredith had, with a parent who had little interest in parenting. It was a cruel punishment just for being born.

"Cristina?" Shane wandered out into the cold, rubbing his arms with both hands. He looked up into the snow, squinting. "Helga is in recovery. The conduits won't be done until at least tomorrow morning."

She swallowed, rubbing her forehead. "So what's next?"

"We go home. She was our last surgery today, remember?"

"Oh. Um, can you drive?" She stared at her hands, frowning. "My hands are shaking."

He put his arm around both her shoulders and headed for the sidewalk. Instead of going back inside with all the curious faces, they walked around the building to the parking lot. Shane was holding her up, though she hadn't known she was about to turn into a puddle until he intervened. He went full momma bear on her and deterred others from approaching, using the same tone he had used when defending her against Meredith years ago.

She held her hands on the heating vents on the way home, realizing for the first time that she was covered in new baby juice. It was drying all over her skin and her scrubs. She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, that's just wrong. That is so wrong."

"Yeah I wasn't gonna say anything," Shane responded.

She pumped the heat up in the shower and tossed her scrubs in the trash can at the bottom of the steps, not minding the snow so long as the smell didn't follow her back into the house. She bummed on the couch for hours, drifting between weird baby dreams and the sound of Shane practicing stiches on a silicone dummy.

It was almost midnight when she got a call.

"Cristina?"

She smiled, intimately relieved by the sound of her friend's voice. She hadn't realized how much she had grown to like talking to Phyllis. "Hi. Yeah, it's me."

Phyllis groaned, and Cristina heard a bed moving in the background. "So… I totally freaked out on you, didn't I?"

"Just a little."

"Sorry. I didn't expect… well, I didn't expect that. I'm fine, though. Everything is fine."

Cristina was hesitant, but she had to ask. "How is the baby?"

"Oh, he's fine. I'm naming him Collin, after my dad."

Cristina didn't know if she should be relieved. Phyllis sounded nonchalant about the whole thing, like she hadn't turned into the banshee queen earlier that day. "Um, okay. So… you're fine?"

"I'm fine. Look, I'm watching this Lifetime movie and it's coming back on, so I gotta go, but I wanted to make sure you knew I was okay. Give me a few days off, unpaid of course, and I'll be good as new."

"But you-"

"Listen, maternity leave is for slackers. Gotta go. See you next week."

Before Cristina could get another word in, the call was over. She stared at her phone, wondering if that had really happened, or if she had dreamt it up. She pinched herself, but she didn't awaken.

Shane came into the room, glancing casually outside before coming to sit beside her. "So?"

"Uh, she said she's fine, and that she's coming back to work next week."

"But she-"

"I know."

"And the baby?"

"She named him Collin. I guess that means she's keeping him."

"But you said she didn't want him."

Cristina frowned. "I… I'm gonna go to bed."

"But what if she smothers him in his sleep?" Shane asked, pursuing her to her bedroom. He hovered in her doorway. "She's a crazy person."

"She sounded lucid."

"I don't like this."

"What do you want me to do about it, Shane? Petition the court? Start a fundraiser?" Cristina snapped, waving him off. "It's none of our business. Go away."

"It will be our business if something happens to that baby and we did nothing to stop it."

"When did you become so righteous? I've seen you sneer at homeless people, Shane. Don't pretend to be Robin Hood because you think you might feel guilty later."

He scowled, and for a moment it seemed he would keep up the argument, but he relented. He backed out of the doorway, striking the wall beside the frame and making a sound like thunder. He slammed his door like a pissed off teenager. Cristina stayed where she was, and then went to survey the damage. He had fractured the drywall.

She rolled her eyes, locked her door, and curled up in bed. Her ears were still ringing from the piercing cry of the newborn, Collin, and she was trying to wrap her head around the phone call she had gotten from Phyllis. She didn't have time to deal with Shane and his attitude. She dialed a familiar number and put the phone between her ear and her pillow, her eyes rolling shut.

She heard laughter on the other end. "Hello?"

"Mer, I need to talk."

"Hold on," Meredith responded. She heard more laughter, and then a door shutting. Meredith sounded giddy. "Hey, isn't it the middle of the night there?"

Meredith sounded happy, and suddenly Cristina shut down the confessions on the tip of her tongue. She forced something completely different out, masking her uncertainty with irritation. "Shane is being a bitch, and I need some advice on a patient."

"Can we raincheck this, then?" Meredith asked.

Cristina bit her lip. Her friend was living the good life halfway around the world. She recognized the laughter in the background – Alex, Jo, and Derek. It must have been a good day for them, full of sunshine. She didn't want to bring her down. She didn't want to be that person.

She shut it all down in a heartbeat. "Oh, yeah, that's fine. I'll call tomorrow or something."

Meredith was quiet for a moment, and the radiance faded from her voice. "Cristina… is everything okay? You sound sad."

"I'm just tired. Talk to you later."

She lay in the quiet for a while, painfully aware of how alone she was. She wondered what Owen would say, and then she smirked, because she knew exactly how he would handle this situation. He would kill Phyllis with kindness and make sure the kid was alright, and if he thought there was trouble, he would call social services and march up to her door like a white knight.

But she couldn't do those things. She wasn't that person. She didn't know what she should be doing, aside from pretending nothing bad was happening. Maybe Phyllis would be the perfect mother. Maybe she would overcome all the pain she had displayed that day.

Maybe the baby would grow up happy and bubbly like Zola.

Or maybe he would spend his entire life bent under his mother's shadow, feeling inadequate, unloved, and unwanted. Maybe she was damning him by doing nothing to help.


	26. Spark

**Spark.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

**November 20, 2015.**

Cristina stood silently, staring at the evacuation protocol panel on the wall across from her. She could hear his parents discussing his options – no options, but still a discussion. His mother went back and forth between wanting to spare him the pain, and wanting to fight to the bitter end, and his father was uncharacteristically quiet. It was finally sinking in for him. For years peace had granted them a positive outlook. They had lived under the assumption that no symptoms meant no disease. Imagining that their child was healthy, even as his condition brought him closer and closer to death, must have given them sanity. Until now.

She was accompanied, as always, by her loyal resident. He was staring at the ground, also listening, but pretending that he wasn't. Shane had a soft heart and this kind of thing would bring him down for weeks. She would have spared him from it, if she could have faced it alone.

Eventually the door opened, indicating that they had come to a decision. Cristina pushed off of the wall, glanced at her friend, and then went inside, bracing herself for the emotional rollercoaster she was embarking on. She came into a quiet corner room, decorated and themed to the liking of her nine-year-old patient, John. He was asleep in bed, still out from his sedatives, but there was a little hitch in his brow. It was like he knew what they were discussing.

Cristina waited at a respectful distance from his parents. Both were relatively poor cashiers from a small town in Michigan – it was the rarity of their son's condition that got them a ticket here. Burke had invited them and set up a treatment plan for John. It was basically an order to make him comfortable until his inevitable death. When Burke left he trusted this patient to Cristina, and now, in the terminal ward, he took up one of the beds and was expected to stay for the next eleven years. It was only his sudden turn for the worst that had brought Cristina there today. His stats had started slipping as his defect put strain on his heart. She wondered if he would make it to the twenty-year prognosis Burke had given him, or if he would be claimed early, like the hundreds before him.

"We want you to treat him," his mother said. She had a habit of staring at John whenever she spoke, as if reminding herself that her words were in his interest. "We want you to do whatever you can… Burke said surgery might be an option in the future."

"It's been four years," his dad cut in.

"That surgery doesn't exist yet," Cristina responded softly. She walked to John's other side, turning him gently onto his back to run her finger over his heart. "His problem doesn't just come from his heart. Leighton's defect is associated with a deformed cardiovascular system. His body is getting blood, but he can't sustain growth."

"Can't you just fix it? Use those new printers to fix it?"

"It's much more complicated than that," Cristina insisted.

His mother whimpered, crouching down to take the boy's hand. Cristina had to look away. She hated how helpless she felt. Shane went to the mother, touching the bag of morphine hanging from the shelf above the boy. "We can take the pain away, but…"

"Shane," Cristina said, gazing at the boy now, instead of his grieving mother. "Um, take him for another set of images. Get me a good visual on his vessels."

It was going to show her the same thing it had that morning, but she had to do something. John had the sweetest face, and the kindest disposition. He reminded her of Owen, and she could not let him waste away in this bed. At least he would get to go somewhere other than this depressing room. It was better than being here with his parents, who grieved him like he had already died.

She left him to it, dodging the thanks of the parents. She had other issues to attend to, like the excitement of filing paperwork in regards to the completion of phase three of her clinical trial. She was headed straight back to her office to bury herself in it again, but something stopped her.

She heard crying.

She crossed the lobby and turned into the resident locker rooms, following the sound of an infant crying to the very back. One of the newer residents, fresh out of his internship in Marseille, was sitting on a bench holding a squealing baby at arm's length.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cristina demanded, a little too flabbergasted to react properly to this situation.

He looked at her, horror on his face, and tried to set the baby down on the bench. It rolled and he grabbed it again, standing and holding it out to her. "I don't know what it wants! It just keeps crying! I think it might be hungry but she didn't leave any food!"

Cristina stared at him, and then rose her voice above the crying. "You have ten seconds to explain what you're doing. If I'm not happy in ten seconds, you better buy a plane ticket back to France!"

"Dr. Danforth gave me this baby and told me to watch it!" he gasped. "Please don't fire me."

Her anger was extinguished, and she realized what she was seeing. Phyllis must have returned from that trip to the Philippines, and instead of finding a sitter, she had dumped her baby on one of the residents. It reminded Cristina of something Bailey had done to her once.

"Where did she go?" Cristina asked.

The resident shrugged.

"Give me the baby."

"But she said-"

"Give me the baby, Bambi," Cristina snapped, making the resident jump a little.

He handed the baby over and Cristina turned him in her arms, bouncing him to try and get him to stop crying. He must have been starving. He felt a little light for his age – what was it? Seven months? Eight months? – and he looked like he had been crying for a while.

"If you see Phyllis, tell her I have the kid in my office." She waited, but the resident remained where he was, watching her with big doe eyes. "You can go now."

"Are you going to f-f-f-fire me?"

"No. If you don't get back to work, I'll have to reconsider."

He skittered off, and she went back into the hall, glancing around to see if Phyllis happened to be wandering somewhere. She went straight back to her office, standing by the window and checking the parking lot for Phyllis' car. It wasn't there.

"What was your name again?" she said to the baby, continuing to rock him. His crying faded into whimpers of protest, and she empathized. His big blue eyes focused on her face and remained there. He was asking nicely for something to eat. "My boobs are empty, kid, but we'll get you something to nibble on. Can you nibble? Do you have teeth?"

He didn't answer, and she really didn't expect him to. It would have been helpful, though. She held him in one arm and pulled out her phone, sending Shane a text request for yogurt, ASAP.

"Of course you have teeth, you're eight months old," she went on, sitting on the edge of her desk. When the baby started crying again, she hopped up and went back to the window, bouncing him and rubbing his back. She brought up the memory of his birth, putting it on a timeline. He was eight and a half months old, and his name was Collin Danforth.

She spent almost twenty minutes keeping him calm until the door opened and Shane came in with the yogurt. He held it up, scowling, and slammed it onto her desk. "Fifty text messages for one cup of yogurt. I think you have priority problems."

She turned, showing him what she was holding. His eyes widened. "You remember Collin, right?" she asked, retrieving the yogurt and peeling the top off. She dipped her finger in, and then slipped it into the baby's mouth. He bit her, but the smile he gave when he realized that he had eaten was apology enough. She smiled back. "Phyllis' son."

"Did she bring him in? Is she back?"

"Uh, kind of. She left him with a resident. I found him totally sucking at parenting, so I stepped in. Good thing, too. I don't think he's eaten today."

Shane held the cup for her, unwrapping a spoon and handing it over. His dark mood was lost when he got a glimpse of Collin's radiant smile. He touched the baby's hand, grinning, and cooed at him. "Hey little guy. Who's a demon spawn? You are! Who's a demon spawn?"

Cristina smiled, unable to deny how adorable the kid in her arms was, but her concern for the baby's mother outweighed it. She handed him over to Shane, directing him to her chair with the yogurt cup. "Watch him. I'm going to find Phyllis."

"Leave her. Maybe she left for Mexico."

"Mexico is across an ocean."

"Poland then, whatever. Let her go."

"She's my friend… sort of. And she doesn't have anyone."

"Well you have a report to fill out, and I got off a few minutes ago, so I think I'll do the finding, and you'll do the babysitting." Shane stood, trying to pass the baby to Cristina. She backed away and he smirked. "Come on, you know you want to."

"I thought you liked babies."

"Honestly, I do, and I would rather stay here and snuggle this baby than go looking for your crazy friend, but do you know what happened when you were holding him?" He came closer, delivering the baby gently to her arms. He leaned within inches of her face, his eyes boring into her, and murmured, "You glowed."

Her heart sped at the implication he was making, and she wanted to protest, but the baby felt so warm in her arms. She withdrew from him, wishing she could wipe that smug look off of his face. She settled on an embarrassed smile. "Shut up."

He laughed. "You know, that's why I love you. You're adorable like once a year when something finally catches you off guard."

"Shane, I will hit you with this baby."

"Fine, I'm going."

She watched him leave, still smiling as she sunk into her chair. She fed Collin another spoonful of yogurt, running the spoon's edge along his lips to catch the excess. He was still staring at her, his little hand clutching the fabric of her shirt. He seemed to be content for the moment.

"You can ignore him," she said to Collin, setting the yogurt down and brushing the baby's hair back over his soft little head. "He's an idiot. I only keep him around to bring me lunch."

She waited, unable to escape the baby's gaze.

"I know you think I'm a horrible person. I forgot you existed. And I was there when you were born. I just have a lot on my plate, okay, kid?"

He made a little cooing sound, smiling at her.

She smiled back. "See? You get it. Sometimes we can't just… we can't just insert ourselves into other people's lives. Phyllis is an adult. If she wants to… to leave you…"

Collin kicked around a little, growing fascinated with her name badge.

Cristina ran her fingers over his little arm. She was captivated by him. She spoke quietly, gently, and got a little lost in her own words. "If she wants to leave you, it's up to her. She had it rough, you know. She lost her kid. Her other kid. Your brother… your dad."

He was occupied with her shirt now, trying his best to fit it into his mouth.

She leaned back, pulling him a little further up her chest, holding him a little closer to her heart. "Sometimes people end up being crappy parents. I would be a crappy parent, for example. You don't want me, kid. I have issues. Buckets of them."

His gaze shifted up to her again.

"Owen would be a good parent," she went on, cupping his face with one hand. She adjusted her arm under him, helping him sit up a little. "He always wanted a kid like you. We kind of… we fell apart over that. He wanted you, and I wanted… this." She looked around at her office, motioning for the baby's benefit. "It's nice, right?"

He clawed his way up her chest, biting the edge of her shirt, and then resting against her neck. His hair tickled her skin. His body was like a little radiator.

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty, it's not working," Cristina said. She put her hand on his back, surprised to find that it was trembling. She could feel his chest expanding. She could feel his heart beating. "You already have a mom. She just… she doesn't know…"

She waited, listening to the baby breathing against her neck. She didn't know what she should do. He snuggled his face into her skin, his eyelids fluttering as if he was trying to sleep.

Cristina drew him away, cradling him in her arms like a newborn. He looked like he would cry for a moment, but then he relaxed into her hold, one of his little hands spread against her forearm. He stretched his legs out, yawning, and turned his face into her breast, his eyes open, but drooping.

"She doesn't know how beautiful you are," Cristina murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. He smelled sweet. His skin was as soft as velvet. He leaned up into her touch, and looked over at her, like he was afraid she was going to vanish. And she watched him, and stayed perfectly still, and kept her breathing as even as she could, afraid that he would be disturbed.

She fell in love with him so easily that it was terrifying.

Hours later the door opened again and Shane crept inside, glancing at the slumbering baby and whispering, "I found her. She's down in the parking lot. Do you want me to take the baby to her?"

"I can do it."

Cristina stood, careful not to jar the infant, and she went quietly to the elevators. She gave deadly stares to anyone she crossed, all the way to the front doors. She waited there, breathing deeply, before she stepped outside. Shane followed, holding the door open for her, but he hung back as they approached Phyllis' car.

Her friend stepped out, looking strangely bright, and dangled her keys.

"Girls' night?"

Cristina stared at her. "What?"

"Come on. I have a full tank of gas and money to burn."

Cristina looked down at the baby, baffled by Phyllis' response. She expected remorse, or apology, or even shame, but she wasn't even sure Phyllis registered that her son was also present.

"I got a sitter. We can drop him off." Phyllis motioned to the baby, but didn't look at him. She opened her door, wiggling her keys once more and popping her eyebrows. "Come on, don't you wanna hear about my trip? I brought you a present. Come on, Cristina."

She was disgusted by the offer, and sad to part with the baby, but she had no desire to jump on the crazy boat with Phyllis. She walked around and strapped the baby into his car seat, shutting the door and stepping away without letting her gaze linger. When she came back to Phyllis, she saw disappointment in her friend's eyes.

"I'm tired," Cristina lied, forcing a smile. "Go have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

Phyllis twisted her lips, sighing. "Okay, okay, sourpuss. I'll send pictures. Sleep tight."

Just like that, she was gone, and the baby was gone with her. Cristina watched the car drive off, unable to secure one singular emotion for these events. She was somewhere between sorrow and anxiety. She wondered if Collin was going to a babysitter, or just going into a crib while his mother left the house. She wondered if Phyllis was aware of her indiscretions, or if she was genuinely unable to be a mother to Collin. She wondered if she should have feigned interest just to see if Collin was going to be alright.

Shane seemed to be locked in the same conflict. He crossed his arms over his chest, heaving an elongated sigh. "I said I didn't like this the day he was born."

Cristina pressed her hands to her temple. "I'm not in the mood for 'I told you so,' Shane."

He frowned. "Are you in the mood for a dead baby? Because that's where this is headed."

"Why don't you just…?" She started off ready to snap at him, to throw whatever she could at him to empty her clouded mind, but she couldn't do it. She looked away, letting the anxiety wash over her in waves. "Can you… help me with my paperwork? I want to go home as soon as possible."

"Cristina, we have to-"

"We don't have to do anything, Shane. Phyllis is an adult. We can't just… we can't just decide if she should have him. She's his mother. Now just, please, help me with the reports."

He was cold to her for the first time in a long time, walking off toward his car. He turned, shaking his head, and said, "Sorry, I'm off the clock. Call Phyllis to help you."

"Shane…"

He waved her off, loading up in his van and driving away. She was surprised he didn't try to run her down. Her crappy mood sank a little lower and she trudged back into the building, doing her best to avoid eye contact with her employees.


	27. Raving

**Raving.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

**December 20, 2015.**

Cristina looked up from the papers for a split second, checking a noise she wasn't even sure she heard, and she caught something in the corner of her eye. She looked up again, staring around the spacious living room. He was there in the arch that led into the kitchen, hiding mostly behind the wall and peeking out at her. Collin Danforth. She hadn't seen him in a month. He was slightly bigger than before, but still teeny, with his big blue eyes and thin blonde hair. His scalp was translucent, showing delicate veins running along his skull. He was crawling, making little slapping sounds whenever he put his palms to the dusty hardwood floors.

She tried her best to ignore him, focusing on the research in front of her, but Collin slowly crept from the arch to the table. He hauled himself to his feet, wobbling as he got a look at the papers. He kept glancing at her and smiling, and then looking at the papers and frowning with concentration, like he was trying to understand her interest in them.

"Hi," she said at last, provoking a thoughtful look from him. He was like a baby deer. With a mother like Phyllis she had never expected such a sheepish child. "Hey, it's okay. You can look. Here, take this one." She pulled off one of the back sheets, the nonsense about testing criteria, and slid it across the table to him. He took it in one hand and held it up, his little eyebrows furrowing. He started gnawing on the corner, but as soon as his focus was elsewhere, he forgot that he was standing up. He fell into a half-squat, and then slid back onto his bottom.

Before she could say anything else, the front door opened and Phyllis rushed in, a blast of cold air pursuing her into the living room. She shrugged off her snow-covered coat and hung it on the rack, kicking off her shoes while she spoke. "Sorry I'm late I was held up in the blizzard – I had to take one of those stupid snowmobiles to get here. I'm gonna have to go back for my car when it slows down out there. You wouldn't believe the day I'm having. The piggyback crashed on the table, took four shocks to get him relatively stable, and then everything sprung a leak at the same time – freaking tissue paper heart walls; I told them that surgery was risky, remember? I told them no because it would waste a perfectly good heart."

Phyllis came into the living room and slumped down on the couch beside Cristina, barely even looking at her son. She loosened her shirt and sighed, laying her head back. "I wasted a perfectly good heart today on a kid who was doomed from conception, but you can't say no when they throw millions of dollars into your research."

Cristina had eyes on the kid, who seemed more interested in the paper she'd given him then the arrival of his mother. "Uh, I got wasted this morning and hiked over here. And now I'm here. That was my whole day."

"But you did the fancy footwork yesterday with John, so you earned that." She glanced up, and for a moment Cristina thought that mother and son would acknowledge one another, but Phyllis looked right past him to the kitchen. She sunk further into the couch, groaning. "Anyway, I did manage to fix that valve – remember the crappy valve from, what was it, Russia or something? He probably had it put in while biting on a rag in the back of a windowless van. It was riddled with infection and everything around it was starting to die."

Collin crawled around the table to Cristina, using her pants leg to pull himself into a standing positon. He tried to climb onto the couch and she scooped him up, sitting him in her lap and handing him her pen to play with. He seemed pleased with this arrangement.

"Did you glean anything from those notes yet?" Phyllis wondered.

Cristina wavered for a moment, almost unwilling to talk about what had been haunting her for a month now. John Baxter. She shook off her misgivings and took a steadying breath. "I, uh, no, not yet. Burke is flying in to see if he wants to continue his treatment plan."

"John is your patient."

"I'm not giving him any say in the matter, but I want his opinion." Cristina smiled when the baby in her lap managed to flip the pen around and whack himself in the cheek. He grinned in return, proud of himself. "If he thinks continuing his plan is the best option for John… I can't disagree."

"But you said the parents wanted surgery."

"There is no surgery," Cristina pointed out. She had been over this with Phyllis at least a dozen times – granted most of those times were when they were completely smashed. It didn't seem to sink in that this miracle surgery everyone wanted was nonexistent.

Phyllis was watching her son, her eyes hooded with thought. Her words were quiet, almost nonchalant, considering the topic they were discussing. "Maybe you should create one."

For a moment the idea thrilled her – she knew the human heart backwards and forwards, inside and out, and if anyone could come up with something innovative to correct this horrible defect, it was her. But then she remembered how fresh she was in the field, and her confidence, her arrogance, became uncertainty. "He's nine years old," she said, sitting back against the cushions and crossing her arms. "If I tried a new surgery, and failed, I would literally kill him."

"This defect is going to kill him."

"When he's twenty."

"You can save him the decay." Phyllis sat up, her voice urgent. "He will spend years wasting away in a hospital bed, until he wants to die, until he has no hope, and until his parents are bankrupt and their lives are ruined. If you can correct the defect now, before it starts destroying his function, you can give him a lifetime."

"Or I can botch the surgery and take eleven years away from him."

"It's worth the risk."

"It's worth the risk of taking _eleven years_ from him?"

"Michael lived for three years after his diagnosis, and that almost killed me." Her statement hung in the air. It was like a gong had been struck. She put her hand to her mouth, as if she could take it back. But she did the opposite. She kept going, and the words dragged out of her. It was horrible to watch, and horrible to listen to, but Cristina couldn't imagine what it was like to live through. "I invested my entire life in that little boy – I loved him more than… more than everything. I would have given him… I would have given him anything… but he died, and it was slow, and painful, and it almost killed me. He crumbled in my arms and it almost _killed me_. You don't have kids, Cristina – you don't know how much it burns you to watch them waste away. If you can save him, save him. If you can't, then just… just try to save him anyway."

While she spoke, her eyes were on Collin, but she didn't really see him. Cristina knew that ghostly look. She saw it in her own mother when she looked at her second husband. Sometimes the ghost of her father would haunt her, and Cristina would hear her crying at night. Phyllis must have seen her first son, the one she loved and lost, instead of the one she didn't want.

Phyllis was resilient, though. She shook it off and got up, crossing into the kitchen without another word. She was mixing drinks. Collin seemed indifferent to her departure.

"What do you think?" Cristina wondered, bouncing her knees a little. Collin smiled reflexively, but his focus was on the pen in his hands. He seemed to be trying to break it. She laid her head back and stared at the vaulted ceiling, pretending the chandelier was a falling anvil. "Why does everybody think that I can just… fix him?"

Collin made a cooing sound and she looked up, finding his wide eyes fixated on her face. He was holding the pen out to her. She took it, twisting it between her fingers.

She thought about going home, but Shane was there, and she was tired of his judgmental eyes. She had been spending a lot of time exploring the local bars with Phyllis and then crash landing in her bed at all hours of the night. He would stand in her doorway when she woke up for work, reminding her once again that he disapproved of her friend's parenting style.

She was so tired of hearing him say that.

"Phyllis!" Cristina yelled. "Do you have an extra bed?"

XxX

It turned out that Phyllis had several extra rooms branching off from the upstairs landing, and even a little studio room that overlooked the river. Her mansion, for the most part, was rundown, dusty, and partially colonized by mice, but the spacious architecture, the spectacular views, and the seclusion of it made Cristina feel like she had traveled back in time. She chose a back corner room, away from Phyllis and away from the nursery. It was the smallest, and therefore the warmest, but it was still so cold that she had to raid all of the closets to find some more covers.

She spent the better part of the night sitting alone in the windowsill, staring down at the water, flipping through her notes, solving a Rubik's cube style cardiovascular puzzle in her head. It was nearly midnight when the previously invisible nanny left, and Collin started crying.

She went to retrieve him, glad that Phyllis was a fan of sleeping pills, and took him back to her room. She got the feeling he didn't want to be alone, because the moment she plucked him out of his crib the crying stopped. He just stared around with those big sad eyes, and held onto her, warming her like a little ball of sunshine. She returned to the windowsill, wrapping a blanket around herself and Collin, who sat up on her lap. He looked out at the water, too, toying with the edge of the blanket. She liked the company, even when she thought she wanted to be alone.

Hours passed in silence. Collin crawled up to her chest, his cheek resting over her heart. He fell asleep and she wrapped the blanket over his back, burying him in it so he couldn't feel the cold wind coming in from the window. She sent a text out to Meredith, too lazy to approximate the time in Seattle. She hoped it was daytime.

Meredith called moments later.

"Why did you send me the glum face? Are you glum?"

Cristina smiled. She sounded wide awake and there were cartoons playing in the background. "Kind of. Phyllis wants me to do the miracle surgery on John."

"The miracle surgery that doesn't exist?"

"Yeah. And the sad thing is I actually want to do it. I do. But I think it was her rousing speech today that did it, and I don't want that speech to be the reason behind this."

"I'm really lost right now."

"Her reasons are good, I mean, why let the kid waste away and then die when I could find a way to fix his heart, but should I really do that when it's a crazy person giving the good reasons?"

"Why is she crazy again? I thought you liked Phyllis."

"I do, I mean, I like her like I liked Jackson, or April – she's just a person that I work with who I occasionally get drinks with. Me liking her is not the issue. She's a nutcase."

"Why is she a nutcase?"

Cristina laid her hand flat over Collin's back. She had never mentioned Collin to Meredith. She had divulged every other aspect of her new life, but the topic of this baby, this baby she was cuddling in the second-story window of his mother's mansion, was completely off-limits. She knew what Meredith would say. She would side with Shane.

"Uh, well… she had a kid. Remember, I told you she was pregnant a long time ago? Well, he's here… for nine months now."

"Oh. You never said-"

"I know, I know, just listen. Phyllis just… the way that she looks at him, it's like she doesn't want him. She didn't want to have another kid, but she did. She is a slightly crazy person right now, and I don't want to take a crazy person's advice."

"If it's good advice you should take it. You want to give the kid a chance, right?"

"Yeah… he's nine, and right now he's strong and healthy, but his body is… the defect will slowly deplete him of proper function. It's rare – this is among like maybe five thousand cases in reported history, and Burke brought him here so he could study its progression; he had no intention of trying to fix the kid. But he's my patient now."

"And you want to save him."

"I want to save him. I'm good, and I know that I'm good, but right now I'm doubting my abilities."

"It's uncharted territory. This is a new challenge. That's why you're there – this is what you wanted. Listen, I stuffed a babies intestines back into his little baby belly today and while I was trying to close I found a tumor on his little baby liver. He had little baby tumors all over his body, invading every organ system – tiny tumors, not detectable unless you're looking right at them – so I extended the surgery."

"Did you fry those little baby tumors?"

She laughed. "I sure did. I filled up a tray with thirty little baby tumors."

"Did he make it?"

She paused briefly, then sighed. "He was on the edge for a while, but his stats are stable for right now. I'm monitoring them from home – I don't trust the residents."

"I know the feeling."

"If he lives, he will be overcoming massive odds against him. He should've died. What he had and what I did should've killed him. But he might live."

"This is an incomplete motivational story."

"Well we don't always get the ending. So deal with it."

Cristina sighed. "I guess I better start working on a cure for Leighton's defect."

"And I better go check on my baby – his potassium is starting to bounce around."

"Goodnight, tell the kids goodnight for me."

"Oh, Derek wanted to know when your flight was landing."

She took a breath. She had put her Christmas trip out of her mind. "Uh, twelve, or one, I think. I can double check. Why? Is he plotting something?"

"I think so. He thinks he's being sneaky but he's pretty bad at it."

"…Mer?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about this? I mean, about the whole baby situation. Shane keeps hounding me about calling social services but I think… I think Collin is okay. I mean, I'm here."

Meredith was quiet for a moment. Her voice became gentler, and Cristina could almost imagine being there with her. "It's not about what happens when you're there. It's about what happens when you're not there. Do what you have to do, Cristina."

"Right. Night."

She sat up a little, pulling back the blanket to look at Collin's little head. He was teeny, and warm, and his heart had already synced up with hers. His little feet were resting over her thighs, his little hands balled into her shirt. His eyelids fluttered with a dream, and every now and then he sighed softly, like he was deep in thought.

She had dealt with a lot of children in her trials, and even as they came to an end, the warm spot in her heart remained. She was weak for them. She had grown accustomed to bright eyes and nonsensical babbling. She had grown to expect it, to adore it. She had also learned that death did not care for such things. While the idea of his death appalled her, she had to admit that he was in a dangerous situation. Phyllis was cool to hang out with, and the perfect companion to someone as rough as Cristina, but she was walking a fine line between neglect and grief.

If she snapped, she had the potential to harm him.

Cristina could not let that happen.


	28. Beneath

**Beneath.**

**December 23, 2015.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

"What's wrong? You look bummed."

Cristina shrugged, sinking further into the ballooned bottom of a frigid park bench. She had an excellent view of half a dozen smoking hot football players, a teenager stuck in a baby swing, and a sparkling lake that looked just like a postcard, but she was glum. Her research for the miracle cure was not going as planned. She had had a falling out with Shane that morning. Her flight had been delayed so she would miss the party in Seattle. Everything was just working against her.

She knew Phyllis couldn't understand her frustration, so she let the question roll off of her. As much as she wanted someone to talk to, she was still reluctant to settle for a crazy person. "I was pulled into an emergency surgery last night. I barely slept."

"Well, don't let that stop you from trolling for one night stands," Phyllis responded cheerily.

It was a nice place, with some nice men giving her some nice looks, but for the life of her she couldn't forget about the baby crawling around at their feet. He had gone behind the bench, working his little arms and knees as he gleefully took over the world. She wondered if Phyllis remembered that she had brought him.

Phyllis nudged her. "So, I was your boy sulking around the hospital this morning as I was leaving. Did you rub his nose in something?"

Cristina rubbed her temples, folding her knees up to her chest. "We had an argument."

"Like a passive aggressive eyebrow-standoff?"

"Like a cataclysm. I think our neighbors called the cops."

"Over what?"

_You and that kid eating sand right now_. She was in the mood to snap at Phyllis, but she was very careful to never bring up the baby. Phyllis always got weird about it. Instead she waved her off. "It was nothing. We just got tired of each other, I guess."

"Are you sure you guys aren't… involved?"

"God, no."

"You know, you say the same thing every time I ask that question."

"Shane is like the brother I never wanted."

Phyllis sat back, considering that. Soon her eyes wondered over the soccer field, and settled on the lake. She looked sad all of the sudden.

Cristina looked behind them for the baby, hoping to use him as a distraction from her own crappy mood, but he was no longer there. Her heart jumped and she scanned the playground behind them. It was under construction and roped off. He was near the center, doing his best to climb a damp, stout hill of mud and clay.

She jumped up and jogged toward him, smiling when he reacted like it was a game of chase. He tried to crawl a little faster, but the hill was too much for his little limbs.

It was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

She stopped at the base of the pile, crouching down to tickle his ribs. He giggled and careened away, his eyes shining. It was the happiest she had seen him.

She reached out for him, ready to take him on a roving tour of the park. She had her hand on his back, still watching that infectious smile, and then he was gone.

He was gone, and the sun was gone, and the ground fell away from her.

She heard a terrible rumbling sound as she tumbled downward. It was like falling through water until the sand gave way, and then all she felt was open air for a split second. The ground smacked her so hard that her vision blurred. Things were falling on top of her, big things, rocks and sharp sticks, chunks of sand; she tried to breathe, but she was quickly being surrounded by debris. Light invaded, and then vanished, flashing rapidly as whatever she had landed on sunk deeper and deeper. Within seconds there was no light, only the sound of sand piling up around her.

It was dark, cold, and quiet, but far from silent.

She forced her arms up under her, clawing around herself. She couldn't see anything; every direction was completely black, and when she looked up sand dropped down into her eyes. Beneath her was solid ground, but it was cold and hard, like a slab of rock. It was gritty under her palms. "What… the… hell?" she gasped, finding it hard to breathe. Her chest was injured.

She could hear sand sliding around on all sides, and it trickled down on her shoulders. It had to be some kind of sinkhole. She remembered the recent weather – the warm spell that had thawed the fresh snow. She looked up again, hoping some light would come in to confirm her theory, but it was still black. She felt like she was in a large space, but she didn't trust her senses after that blow to the head. She reached her arms out and struck nothing on every side.

"Son… of… a bitch." She eased into a reclined position, shaking rocks and sticks off of her chest and prodding at her ribs. She saw stars when she struck the right section. It was the third, fourth, and fifth vertebrosternal ribs, on the right side, and the sixth might've been fractured. She couldn't bear to touch it and find out. Her entire ribcage felt depressed, leading her up to the clavicle, which was in bad shape. She didn't even want to put pressure on it. She let her right arm relax, aware that shock was the only thing keeping it from radiating pain; the bones were probably rubbing against each other with every breath, causing more and more damage. It would eventually hit her blood supply if those breaks weren't corrected, and one of her ribs was probably poised to puncture her lung if she twisted the wrong way.

She found several gashes on her thighs and hips, but the bleeding wasn't profuse. Her wounds were caked with sand and she felt it under her skin, left there by whatever had punctured it in the first place. When her hand reached her lower leg, an involuntary gasp left her mouth. She'd come upon the edge of a much larger laceration, one that extended down into her shoe. She didn't feel a significant amount of blood, and there was no pressure to indicate muscle swelling, but it was going to need at least four dozen stitches.

She was trying to get her shoe off without bending when she heard a soft whimpering coming from her left. For a moment she was dumbfounded, and then it hit her.

Collin.

"Hey," she whispered, stretching out in that general direction. She dragged herself forward with her left arm, groping around in the darkness. "Hey… you there… Collin?"

She heard another whimper, and then a soft sobbing.

"It's… it's okay… it's okay… It's me… it's Cristina… hey, come here… come toward me… let me see… if you're hurt… it's okay." She stopped suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She reached out in front of her and then shrunk back in horror. The floor was gone. She could go no further. But he was definitely on the other side of the gap, perhaps a little lower down than she was. Every instinct told her to go to him, but she couldn't make herself go near that drop off. She could fall further into the sinkhole and she wasn't lucky enough to survive another fall.

She groped at the edge, keeping her body on the solid rock and planting her right hand on a deep ridge. Even if a creature from the depths of Hell grabbed on to her, she wasn't going down there.

And then she heard the boy more clearly. He was crying softly, and then his voice became a little shriller. There was no mistaking where it came from. He wasn't on the other side of the pit – he was in the pit. He was down there, perhaps only a few feet away from her, but his voice was bouncing all over the place, and she couldn't get a visual on him.

Suddenly she realized that she still had her phone in her pocket. She belly-crawled backward to the safety of her little landing and raised her right arm to pull it out, but thousands of tiny prickles of pain ran up her spine and made her lose her breath. It was like being stabbed over and over again for several minutes. When the pain died down she rolled onto her back, her aching shoulder resting on the freezing ground, and yanked the phone out.

She hit the unlock button and light filled the area, dazzling her, but also terrifying her. She saw the ceiling for the first time and she forgot to breathe. It was not miles above her, as she had imagined, but only seven or eight feet above her head. It wasn't solid rock, or loose sand, but several chunks of broken up rocks and what looked like a tangle of tree roots, with little pockets that leaked sand down onto her. She was lying on a smooth slab of granite, but it only extended a few feet in every direction. Beyond it was a bed of sand that shifted constantly; it was falling away into some lower chamber, further down into this hellish pit.

She turned the other way, pointing the phone at the drop-off. She'd been right about that. The granite had a jagged edge, and just past it the rock dropped down several meters. She slid toward it, hanging the phone over the edge, and found Collin lying at the bottom. Beside him there was an opening, but she was too far away to see what was beyond it.

"Hey," she whispered, pulling the phone back to show him her face. "Collin. Hey… sweetheart… it's okay… it's okay… I'm coming to get… you."

He stared at her with wide eyes, lying almost completely still on his back. He was awake and he seemed aware of her, but he was frozen to the spot, like a fawn hiding in the grass. She imagined the worst for him – the fall could have paralyzed him.

She gauged the distance and revved herself up for it. It was probably safer down there. She was the one teetering on a few tons of granite, ready to be impaled when that mess above her got loose enough. He'd fallen into a real cave; it looked like it'd been there for a long, long time, and this sinkhole had just revealed it. Even if it didn't have a way out, it had an overhang of solid rock that would protect them while they waited to be rescued. It was logical. It was a foolproof plan. But she was terrified. She laid on the edge, staring down at him, waking her phone up every thirty seconds to keep an eye on everything, but she couldn't make herself move.

The sinkhole made the decision for her. She heard a deep rumbling again, a prelude to movement, and the sand started falling more quickly from the ceiling. Chunks of rock began shifting above her, striking her legs, making her shrink back to the edge. Adrenaline shot into her veins and she rolled off, not giving it a second thought. She hung by both arms, trying to find the ground with her feet, but her right arm was too weak; her fingers slipped off. She landed on her feet, but her legs wobbled and she ended up on her bottom. Sand started pouring down on her, making her scramble for the back of the cave – she hit a low hanging roof with her forehead and she cursed. One of the tumbling rocks ricocheted into the cave and struck her in the back. She heard Collin screaming from the unprotected edge.

She crawled back out to him, dragging him by the leg into the shelter. Even when the situation was so dire, she was reluctant to move his little neck, so she kept him as still as she could. She placed him beside her in the back and waited until the sand slowed down.

Collin whimpered.

It was getting harder to breathe. Filling her lungs jarred her ribs, so she had to take short, shallow breaths, but those breaths were barely enough.

She turned her phone light on and started examining Collin, checking his spine. With every perfect vertebrae her heart slowed a little more. When she knew he was in the clear, she drew him up into her arms, working through the pain in her chest. He latched onto her immediately. He had blood running through his blonde hair, down his neck and onto the ground. It was hard to tell how badly he was hurt while holding him, but she was unwilling to lay him down on this rough, sharp, gritty cave floor. She flipped her phone around, searching for a safe spot.

Toward the edge, where she had entered from above, sand was running down. Her phone light highlighted it like dust particles in a sun beam, but beyond it was pitch blackness. She could feel the space stretching out, creating a cavern, but she couldn't see it. Behind her the cave turned into several tiny openings, only big enough for rodents. They were stuck in a bubble and there was nowhere to run.

Cristina knew she should've been examining Collin, but she was stuck on the cave opening. She had her phone pointed at it, and she watched, horrified, as rocks started piling up. It sounded like thunder every time a large rock fell down; her heart jumped and her chest ached. Sand was coming in, filling the entrance and creeping toward them.

There was no change for a while.

It started to slow at the end of the hour. She pulled out her phone again, grimacing at the missed calls. Why hadn't she thought of that? _It wouldn't do any good_. She answered herself. They knew she was down here; talking to them wouldn't help. She turned the phone light on Collin instead, finding his eyes open. Her phone's background, a picture of her and Meredith laughing, reflected in his iris. His scared expression was heartbreaking.

"It's… okay," she said, readjusting him so he was sitting against the left side of her chest. She hadn't realized she was compressing her broken ribs with his body; the adrenaline had numbed her, but now that the sand was slowing down her body was starting to feel intense pain again. She focused on breathing for a bit, then she turned him around and examined him.

He resisted the movement, trying to move closer to her, but she held him back by his shoulders. "Wait… shh… shh… it's okay. Just one minute."

She went over his head with her fingers, glad that it seemed unharmed. His eye socket was starting to swell and blood trickled from his earlobe, but these were superficial injuries. His arms were fully functional, though, at least in the light of her phone, they looked like they would be blanketed in bruises for a while. His belly was scraped up, but his ribs were fine, and his pulse was strong. He pulled away when she tried to check his leg – the good prognosis in her head vanished when she pulled up his pant leg and found that it was swelling and turning purple. Something was broken, and compartment syndrome was kicking in.

She hated herself for what she was about to do. She hated herself before she even started, because she knew how much pain she was about to cause him. She pulled him up against her chest and wrapped her arm firmly around his torso. She used her free hand to grasp one of the jagged rocks lying nearby. She shook it, dislodging as much sand as she could.

Her phone's light faded away as it locked itself. Cristina shut her eyes, even though it was already dark, and held Collin as tightly as she could without squashing him. She dug the rock into his leg and ripped open a portion of his shin. He screamed bloody murder and bucked backward, his shoulder ramming against her broken ribs, but she held onto him. She saw stars, but she held onto him. It was done. She dropped the rock and took out her phone.

Her fingers smeared blood on its surface. She looked at the picture of herself and Meredith for a moment, trying to see the details through the blood, and then she turned it on Collin. He was still screaming and struggling against her, but she was strong enough to hold him there; he kicked his legs wildly but she could see that the cut was working; his muscles bulged and swelled through it, showing signs of relaxing. She took what was left of his pants off and tied them around his thigh, getting a tiny fist in the cheek for her efforts. He'd managed to turn himself and try to push off of her chest with his little hands.

"Hey, whoa," she said, grabbing his wrists and restraining him. He tried to crawl away, but he buckled, falling helplessly into her lap and screaming some more. He stopped resisting her, focusing on the pain rather than the person holding him down. "I know… it hurts," she said, trying to figure out what his mother would do in this situation. She would probably lock him in his room and drink tequila. Her mind went to Meredith and she started rubbing the boy's back, shushing him, whispering over and over again, "I know… It's okay… I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."


	29. Beneath, Part II

**A/N: **I'm glad you guys like this story and, as always, I love to hear from you. Give me your theories for the next chapter. Trust me, it'll be a rollercoaster from this point on.

**XxX**

**Beneath, Part II**

**December 23, 2015.**

**Zurich Switzerland.**

It took over an hour for Collin to stop crying. He went silent very suddenly, pressing his face hard into her arm, and his little fingers grasped at her shirt. She cut the light on and found his eyes focused on her face. His gaze was more intense than usual. His lips were red, with bits of debris drying across his jaw and nose. She left them be, not wishing to share the blood on her hands. She got a good look at his leg, grimacing at the mass of muscle swelling outside of the wound. He was only nine months old, still crawling instead of walking. She was grateful for that. If his muscles had been any more developed this kind of injury would have damned him for life.

She sat quietly with him, running her hand up and down his belly to try and ease his discomfort, until her phone started vibrating again. It startled Collin and he curled closer to her, irritating his injury. She answered, not even checking the number first.

"Hello?"

"Cristina!"

"Shane?"

"Hey!" He had a painful relief in his voice. It was a sharp contrast to the booming tone he had used with her that morning. She had expected to get the silent treatment from him for months after their blowout, but hearing him now, she knew all was forgiven. "Hey," he spoke softer. She could hear sirens and loud noises in the background. "Hey, you okay? Are you hurt?"

She considered saying something sarcastic, but her chest ached with its objection. "Uh… I… the right side of…. my ribcage… is crushed. Collin has… Collin has anterior… compartment… syndrome. I relieved the… the pressure but… he needs surgery."

His breath caught. "Just focus on breathing. They know where you are and they're gonna get you out. You're gonna be fine." Someone was shouting in the background, and the heavy machinery drifted further away. "Just stay awake, and stay alive."

"I was… planning on… taking a nap… and then dying… you party… party pooper."

He chuckled. It was a sad sound. "Not on my watch."

"You let me… fall in here… you idiot…"

"You're the one who wanted to go man trolling."

"If you… get me out of… this…" she coughed, feeling light-headed. The more she talked the less time she had to focus on breathing. But she had to say this. "I will… consider your… proposal."

He laughed. Somewhere behind him, a car door closed. "Forget about it. Focus on you, okay? When you get out of this you can be right all the time, okay?"

She knew his voice. For over a year now she had walked side-by-side with him every day. She could picture his voice right now. She knew how upset he would look, and how he would pace around, how he would try to order the rescuers around. She knew him, inside and out, so she expected his words. She expected him to sound choked.

"You don't get to die on me. I won't let you."

He was still such a kid. "Not really… much choice here…"

"Cristina…"

"Sorry."

"Doctor Yang!" he snapped. "This is not a goodbye call."

"You were a… good friend… you should… probably… cry less."

She hung up on him. She knew he wouldn't do it, and she couldn't talk to him anymore. She couldn't afford to sob right now – it would make it impossible to keep breathing. She dialed a familiar number instead, one she hadn't allowed herself to dial in a long time. She had expected to see him at the Christmas party, but now that didn't seem like an option.

He sounded perplexed. She really couldn't blame him.

"Cristina?"

"Owen, hey… is this… a bad time?"

"Uh, no, it's just – are you okay? You sound-"

"I was… jogging… I just wanted… to check in… how… how are you?"

"I'm good, I'm fine. Cristina, are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine. Hey… how is… Amelia? Meredith said… you guys… were getting serious…"

"We are, yeah. Where are you? You sound horrible."

"I'm… I'm in a bit… a bit of a… jam here."

He was silent for a few heartbeats, and she almost thought she'd lost him. "What's going on? Do you need help? Do you need an ambulance?"

"Well… if it had… wings maybe… it could… help me…"

"I don't understand. What do you need?"

"I just need… to tell you… goodbye."

"Cristina-"

"Don't… talk over me… I don't have much… breath. Just listen." She felt a tear slip down her cheek and she reached up to wipe it away. Her lip trembled and her hand dropped. "Owen." His name came out as a whimper. It hurt just to hear herself whine like that. It reminded her of the shooting, when she'd heard his voice in that OR, when she'd said his name because she was afraid for her life, and all she wanted was to be protected.

She heard him draw in a breath.

"I love you," she said. Her voice echoed in the cave. "You are… the love of my… my life, too… I know I… make it hard to… be friends… but I love… you. I love you."

"Don't do that, don't say goodbye. Tell me what's happening. Tell me what's wrong."

"I… uh… I fell, down a… hole, down a hole." She coughed, slowing down to make it easier on her lungs. "I'm trapped… underground… my chest is… crushed… and the guy… up there… they're so… slow with the…with the digging."

She knew he wanted to say something more. She had two men in her life that she knew inside and out, and this one she'd been married to. She knew he had something else to say, but he held it back. He spoke urgently. "I love you, too. I love you. I love you." She heard a door shut. "But I'm going to see you again, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"I'm going… flight…" His voice started breaking up. She strained to hear him.

Radio silence. She waited, moving the phone around in their little cave, trying to get the call to come back, but it was too far gone. The line went dead. She set the phone down beside her and blinked to fight off tears. She hadn't been afraid before that phone call. Now it seemed that she had so much to lose on the other side. She experienced a wave of devastation. It gripped her, drawing a sob from her chest, making it even harder to breathe.

Without warning the sand started up again. Both of them jumped, and Collin clutched at her, trying to get as close as possible. Cristina wrapped her right arm around him again and pointed the phone in the direction of the sand – she could barely see a wall debris and water falling endlessly in the mouth of the cave. It brought a putrid smell with it.

When a few minutes had passed she let the area go dark again. She leaned against the wall, letting her head fall back only to sit up suddenly. It wasn't smooth, but jagged, and she'd probably just cut her scalp. She kept the boy calm by stroking his face, keeping him pressed into her chest despite how much pain his weight caused her. He was trembling uncontrollably and this allowed her to keep tabs on his vitals.

She was tired of the sound of splashing water and rock, so she spoke to him. "Hey, sweetheart, look at me. Hey, that's it."

He shifted, curious, and she cut the light on. She could see tears on his face, and in the bottoms of his eyes as he stared at her. He was still a long way from learning to talk, but he was thoughtful. He was considering her. He wanted to know what was happening, but he had no way of expressing that need.

"We're getting… out of here… okay?"

Silence.

"Don't look at me… like that… you got us… into this."

He swallowed, lifting his hand up to touch her chin.

"We're gonna be fine… my friend is gonna… get us out."

His little lip trembled and he turned his face into her breast. His hand drifted to her shirt, locking onto the collar. His uninjured leg dug into her thigh. He was quite, save the sound of his breathing. It was normal, but she was fixated on it, sure that he would stop any moment. She was almost too focused on him to realize that the falling debris had become louder.

She sat up a little, jarring the baby and her own injuries. Her heart hammered. She turned on her phone light, but it was too dim to show what was happening at the drop-off. She could hear the sand moving around, rocks thudding against each other, water pouring between the cracks. It all became louder and louder, faster and faster, until the noise overwhelmed everything else.

She set the baby down, hardly able to hear his screaming over the splashing water. It sounded dangerously close to them. She crawled across the uneven cave floor, holding out her phone until she could see the edge. She was right. Water was rising toward their little hideaway.

She leaned over, startled when her hand struck the growing pool. It was a few feet below the edge of the cave. She looked up again, blinking through the spray of water and trying to find a way to dig out. It was shadowy up above. She couldn't tell if there was a break in the debris. If the water kept rising they had a chance to float up to safety, but if there was no hole, they would drown while the water continued to rise through the cracks.

She was about to retreat from the edge when someone burst through the water and tried to grab onto her. She reeled backward, gasping, but then lunged to clutch at their hands, trying to get a grip on their slimy, muddy skin. They slipped back down into the water and Cristina lunged after them, managing to catch their wrist as they struggled to stay at the surface.

It was a woman. She was screaming and gasping as Cristina hauled her up onto the edge of the cave. Cristina retrieved her phone and shined over her body. She floundered for a moment, and then she went still, staring at the ceiling and taking unsteady, shallow breaths. She was in shock.

Cristina wiped the mud off of her face, trying to clear up her airways and give her a fighting chance of surviving the water alone. She was freezing, trembling, and straining for the slightest bit of air. Water bubbled from her lips, but not with the force of a person reeling to survive. Cristina did a few compression on her ribcage, glad when the woman started coughing. Finally her reflexes were working. She vomited, shivering horrible, and curled up on her side.

"It's okay," Cristina said, pulling up her phone to get a look at her patient. She paused at her face, disturbed by the familiarity of her features. She scraped a little mud from her nose.

Cristina dropped the phone.

It was Phyllis.


	30. Beneath, Part III

**Beneath, Part III**

**December 23, 2015.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

It was a lot to take in, and she had such a short time to come to terms with what was happening. She had seconds to think, to reconcile the fear she felt with her determination to survive. Collin was screaming, his voice shrill and horrific over the sound of boulders sliding up above, and Phyllis was lying on the uneven floor in front of her, barely conscious and fading fast.

Her friend was trembling, her skin much paler than Cristina had ever seen it, her eyes much duller than they had been on her darkest day. It was unclear how much she understood the situation. She gave no outward expression of pain, but as Cristina shined the light down her torso, it was clear that she was gravely wounded. Her abdomen was swelling. One foot was twisted backward. Beyond the mud and the dripping, dirty water, she had a thousand tiny lacerations on her every exposed piece of skin. Her pelvis was crushed – white caps of bones jutted out from her inguinal region, though it wasn't clear which bones they were. In her belly, the blood vessels were emptying out into her musculature. For now it was just the arterioles, but soon the damage would spread. Each beat of her heart forced her vascular system to shred itself a little more.

Cristina knew that she was going to die. She knew both professional and personally, but there was a piece of her that refused to accept it. Phyllis had been through too much to die now.

She put her hand over the laceration in her pelvis, her thumb sealing up a threatening wall of her femoral artery. Her phone clattered to the floor in her haste, sitting beside her hands, illuminated for a moment before it left her in darkness. She heard Collin dragging himself in her direction, screaming, and she used one hand to feel around for him.

When she got a few fingers around his arm, she hauled him into her lap and held him tightly against her chest. She realized for the first time that she was freezing. Phyllis had splashed her coming out of the water. Collin latched onto her like he had before and pressed his face into her neck. She felt his tears on her collar. She had no hands to get her phone to light up again, so there was no way to know if the artery was already tearing under her hand.

She was alone in the deafening darkness.

She was aware of time passing, measured only by the furious pulse running under her fingers. She was literally keeping the damn from bursting. Her hand ached and her wrist kept trying to turn back to a more natural position. Collin squirmed around every now and then, making it hard to hold still. He was feeling the pain set in, now that the shock had left him.

Precious minutes ticked by. She let Collin slide down onto her knee, holding him up with her elbow while she reached for the phone. When the light came on she was horrified to see how pale Phyllis had become. She barely looked human. She was more like a cadaver now.

"Can you… hear me?" Cristina asked, sitting back with the phone and the baby in hand. Her other hand remained on the artery, keeping it from exploding.

Phyllis still had her eyes open. They flicked toward Cristina.

"Hey," she said, doing her best to force a smile, but failing. "Hey, you're a… a crap date."

Phyllis groaned. Her fingers twitched. Her uninjured foot shifted around. She appeared confused, afraid, and unsure, and just like her son, she had no way of expressing it. Her lips were not working. Her throat shifted, as if she was trying to swallow, but it was hard on her. Breathing was all she could manage.

Cristina saw her awareness as a good sign. Her brain was still getting blood and that blood was still getting oxygenated. She had a fighting chance, if only the rescuers stepped it up.

She sat with Phyllis, her legs splayed out uncomfortably on the rough rocks. She had wounds of her own – serious wounds – but her mind refused to go there. Her focus remained on the vessel pulsing beneath her fingers, and the baby twisting around in her arms. Her patients – her friends – were both suffering, with no way to find relief, and she was all they had.

Eventually the pouring water slowed down, and then stopped. She saw light peeking through the roof, pure, powerful daylight, and it cast a glow into the cave. She could finally see Phyllis, a pale, placid version of herself, and the extent of the damage was clear. Cristina had seen one of her ribs poking through her pelvis, or, at least, a fractured piece of her rib. Her thigh was still badly gashed, so she couldn't remove her hand. She just looked up into the sunlight, squinting.

She was instructed – by megaphone – to slide to the back of the cave. She had to dump Collin on the ground to carefully drag Phyllis, keeping her thumb over the thinnest part of the artery. She dragged Collin by his arm every few feet until they were clear of the debris.

She focused on her breathing, trying to soothe the crying baby, and keep Phyllis from moving around too much. She had woken a little in the sunlight and she was again trying to figure out what had happened. A man in a harness was lowered into the hole. He flew by them at first, to the bottom. Cristina heard him splash around in the water a bit, and then he rose to their level, shining an overpowered spotlight into their little hovel.

He got a look at the situation, and then in accented English he said, "Hand me the baby." He swung to the edge of the cave, getting flimsy footing and crouching down. He held out his hands.

"I can't… move," Cristina said, looking down at Phyllis. "She needs a… tourniquet."

He came closer, inspecting them all. He took Collin gently from her arms, causing him to scream and wiggle around. The rescuer was prepared for this. He moved expertly backward, ascending like a hovering bird. Cristina followed the sound of Collin's voice all the way to the top.

Less than an hour later they were all on the surface and she was strapped to a gurney. Phyllis was being loaded into a helicopter, crowds were gathering along the borders set up by police, and rescue workers swarmed the area, talking on their radios and blaring their sirens to get the onlookers to shut up. She tried to relax, to force herself to believe that it was over, but Shane appeared from the crowd and talked his way over to her.

"Cristina. Thank God."

"Wasn't… God… it was… firefighters," she objected, though it felt nice when he took her hand. He followed her up into the ambulance and sat down beside her, smiling like an idiot. "Wipe that… stupid look… off your face…"

"I can't help it," he said, his smile wavering for a split second. "I almost lost you today. I came _this_ close to losing my best friend."

"Could still… lose me… you know…" she squeezed his hand when something jabbed her arm. "Do my… IV… this guy is… an idiot."

She saw the paramedic shoot her a dirty look as he tried to find a vein the second time. She flinched, her eyes roving the vehicle. "Hey." Shane's voice pulled her back to him. He put his hand on her cheek, holding her head still. "Relax. You're gonna be fine."

"If I die… I just… want you… to know… I was right… about Phyllis… I was right."

He laughed. "You're supposed to say you regret all of your mistakes, and you wish you'd traveled more. That's what people say when they're dying – which you're not."

"I want my… last words to be… I told you so."

"They're not your last words. You're fine. You're gonna be fine."

The paramedic began cutting open her shirt, but as he got to the top he stopped, a horrified look on his face. Shane leaned very slightly and then sat straight up, mumbling something.

"What… is wrong?" Cristina asked.

"Looks like one of your ribs is… er… protruding."

She strained her neck, trying to get her head up. He was right. She could see the tip of her rib protruding through the bottom of her breast. She let her head fall back, feeling nauseous.

"Do you want me to…?"

"Tell the surgeon… to stitch… a lightning bolt… into my… boob."

Shane snorted, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He lingered there for a moment, his eyes shut tightly, and then he murmured, "I'll call Callie."

"No she's… probably… busy."

"Not too busy for this."

"Shane-"

"Hey, for once I get to make the decisions. Now I'm calling Callie, and she can bring whoever she likes from Seattle. They're your friends and I'm calling them."

"You're fired."

"That still doesn't work on me."

"Shane… Phyllis… how is she?"

He ran his hand over her hair, picking out some leaves. "I think she'll make it, but… she got banged up pretty bad down there."

She frowned. She wanted to know more, but he didn't have the answers she needed. She was grateful that he was there to hold her hand, to be stubborn on her behalf.

"You're my… best friend… too, you know."

He smiled a very Shane smile and leaned over his knees. It was almost like he was guarding her. She sensed his distress, his anxiety, but he tried to hide it from her. He tried to act as nonchalant as she was. He used his free hand to send a text to Callie. She couldn't read the message, but she saw her friend's face in the picture on the left side of the screen.

It took them seven minutes to get to the hospital. She only knew that because Shane had a habit of checking his watch every thirty seconds. Fourteen glances and the doors flew open.

Shane walked beside her down the hallway, keeping perfect pace with the ER doctors. Everything blurred past and Cristina had to shut her eyes to keep from getting sick. Now that the threat of drowning, or being crushed, was gone, the situation hit her full force, like a boulder slamming into her back. It took her breath away.

"Meredith keeps calling your phone," Shane told her, holding up the bloody cellphone. It was in a biohazard baggy and buzzing out of control.

Owen must have told her. He was such a gossip. "Give me your phone."

"You're going into surgery," he objected.

Cristina glanced around, picking out the lead surgeon by the dark green scrubs he wore. "Hey, sew a… lightning bolt… into my… boob."

"I'll call her," Shane said, stopping short as they passed into the red zone. He stood helplessly behind the rapidly closing double doors. "Be good!"

She gave him a thumbs up seconds before she was whipped around a corner. She could see into the other ORs, where the victims of the sinkhole had been dumped – and one guy getting a valve replacement. The place was booming with doctors, nurses, and volunteers who ducked out of the way of her weaponized gurney, shooting a glance at her to see if they needed to follow this little parade. She caught several new partygoers on the way to the table.

"I'm Doctor Harper. I'll be patching you up today. It looks like we just received your records Miss… Yang," the lead surgeon said, slowing the gurney right outside the hospital room. "Is there anything else we need to know?"

"No, it's… all there. Seriously… the lightning bolt?"

He smiled with the kind of patience that all doctors had, patting the front of her gurney. "It will be spectacular. Let's get her prepped and move forward. We need to stabilize her ribcage."

From that point on, it was all business. She was given oxygen, switched to a specialized IV, and moved into the OR, where nurses were scrambling to prep the table. Someone popped a mask on her face and the lights above got brighter. Every sound became louder. The room started to drift away from her. She felt them lift her, and then set her gently on the table.

She was vaguely aware of Shane appearing in the observation area, of his worried eyes on her. She was aware of how alone he was right now, and how alone he would be if she never woke up.

That thought traveled with her in her dreams.


	31. Shaken

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this! My laptop – the shiny new 2-in-1 I bought not even six months ago – had a wonderful factory defect, so I had to get a new computer for fourteen hundred dollars, and it promptly forgot how to internet. I just got it back from the Geek Squad. Thankfully, they solved the internet problem, so I can get back to posting chapters.**

**XxX**

**Shaken.**

**December 25, 2015.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She woke with the feeling that she had been gone for a long time. Her limbs were like concrete on the bed, her eyes were difficult to open, and the lights above were punishing. Her dreams bled through and colors danced across the walls. She felt feverish, and freezing, and everything ached.

Slowly, with the vitality of a ninety-year-old woman, she grasped at full consciousness, and the room came into focus. She was in a hospital bed, surrounded by reclined chairs, open books, and empty food containers. She was alone for the moment, but she saw movement on the other side of the doublewide door. She heard familiar voices whispering.

The television was muted, but it had her attention. She stared at it for a solid minute trying to discern the time. It was playing news reports of the accident that had put her here – helicopter footage of the sinkhole eating up half of the local park. Blurry words ran along the bottom of the screen. She gathered that it was very, very early in the morning, perhaps only a few hours past midnight. It was listing the casualties. Forty-two people had been injured and three had been killed. Seven people were unaccounted for. It was also Christmas day.

Eventually the door opened and Meredith came in. She smiled at Cristina and came straight to her, taking her hand. She was warm, inside and out. Her eyes, though weighed down by exhaustion, were bright and excited. She took the chair right by the bed.

"Hey, sleepy head," she whispered.

Cristina wanted to say something, but her jaw felt rubbery.

"Just give it a minute," Meredith murmured, stroking her hair back like a worried mother. She pulled the blankets up a little, glancing at the monitors. "You have a little fever. Those drugs hit you like a truck. Give yourself a few minutes to come out of it."

Cristina nodded.

"Your surgery was successful. Shane and I repaired your lung, so they both work now." Meredith looked down suddenly, blinking moisture from her eyes. "You, um… we lost you a few times. Don't ever do that to me again, okay?"

Cristina hated to see her friend look so afraid. Meredith had lost enough already. Death was an old friend of theirs. She had no intention of giving up the fight for life. She wanted to say something comforting, or something funny, but her lips felt numb. She could only manage two words – two names that were floating to the front of her mind.

"Collin? Phyllis?"

Her friend looked away again, and Cristina recognized the reluctance in her. She took a deep breath. "Phyllis came through it okay. Her femoral artery ruptured in the ambulance, but the paramedic that was with her was pretty experienced. He stopped the bleeding. It was dicey for a while but she stabilized yesterday afternoon. She'll be fine."

Cristina waited, her heart thrashing about inside. Was she really concerned for Phyllis, or was her fear for Collin overwhelming everything else? Meredith was avoiding that news. It must have been awful. Her little friend must have lost his fight.

"When they brought Collin in, he started seizing on the table."

Everything stopped. It just stopped.

She finally mustered a sentence. It came out croaky and it felt like she was sipping on flames. She barely recognized her own voice. "W-What… happened?"

Meredith rested her arm over Cristina's, her thumb running over her skin soothingly. She shook her head, smiling sadly. "It's not what you think. He's alive." She paused a moment to let that soak in. "He was put under observation and his wound was patched until the convulsions stopped. He went under yesterday morning, but… he slipped into a coma."

"Is he…?"

Her friend looked away again, refusing eye contact. "Derek looked over him. He has brain activity to indicate that he might still… wake up… but he's so little. Derek doesn't think… we don't think he'll… He might not wake up. I'm so sorry."

"I want to talk to Derek."

"Cristina-"

"Just let me ask him!" Her words got caught in her throat and she coughed. The force of it produced a dizzying pain in her chest.

Meredith stood, putting her hand on Cristina's forehead. She was frowning. "I'll go get him, okay? Just don't try to talk." She glanced at the IV, at the monitors, one last time, and then she headed out. She beckoned the others in as she exited.

Cristina did her best to calm down, focusing on the overexcited surgeon coming toward her. Callie was grinning as she scooted the chair closer to the bed. She rested her head on the railing. Alex was behind her, his arms crossed as their eyes met. He had a sweet smile on his face, a contrast to the scowl he wore most of the time they had worked together. He walked around to the window side, checking her machines, and then he took a seat.

Her third guest stayed by the door, leaning against the wall. He was staring at her with the same preemptive grief that Meredith had. She recognized it from the days following the plane crash. She knew that feeling. It painted her entire life.

Callie flipped the blanket down, revealing a metal apparatus on the upper half of Cristina's chest. It looked like a bird cage turned on its side. "You broke seven ribs – and when I say broke, I mean shattered." Callie knocked on the metal. "Welcome to the iron ribcage. I've always wanted to use one. It's the most bitchin' thing in flat bone surgery."

Alex leaned over the railing, tapping on the surface. "Bionic Yang. We can rebuild her. We have the technology."

Cristina rolled her eyes, looking pleadingly at Callie.

Callie slapped his hand away. "Shut up, evil spawn." She pulled the blankets down further, easing the heat that was starting to climb up Cristina's body. "You have to wear it for two weeks. I'm being as cautious as possible with this injury."

"How… bad?" Cristina asked.

"Not as bad as it looks," Alex responded. "By the time that thing comes off the rest of your lacs should be healed. You can thank Jackson for the sutures, by the way. He red-eyed out here and then flew back after the surgery."

"By the way, you should be eating more," Callie added.

"Thanks… mom."

"Arizona says hi, and the kids are making you cards as we speak," Callie assured her. "Oh, and when you get the chance you should check out your boobs, because I stitched in a wicked lightning bolt. You're like Harry Potter with cleavage."

Cristina smiled, vaguely recalling her request to Shane. He had come through after all. Her smile faded when she turned to Alex. "Did you… Collin?"

Suddenly his smile was gone. He looked away, just like Meredith had. "Yeah… I did his surgery. By the time I got here they had already packed him for the seizures. I was the closest pediatric surgeon so… I… I don't know what else to tell you. Meredith pretty much covered it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Cristina almost fell asleep. She was awakened by movement on the other side of the room. Owen had detached himself from the wall. He came to stand at the foot of her bed, looking between the other surgeons.

"Can I have a minute alone with her?"

Callie cocked an eyebrow at him. "Uh, I spent four hours detaching and reattaching tiny pieces of her skeleton. I think I deserve more than five minutes of face time."

"Callie…" Cristina said.

"Okay, fine, but I'm coming back. Probably with pudding and ice chips. Because I'm caring like that."

When they were both gone, and the door was cracked behind them, Owen took the chair by her bedside. He still had that grieving look on his face, but he also managed to look relieved. He pressed her hair back in the same way that Meredith had, his hand lingering on her head.

For lack of a better greeting, she whispered, "Hi."

He smiled. "Hi." He took a deep breath, wrapping his hand around hers. He was looking at her new suit of armor while he spoke. "Dr. Ross called that in from Sweden. It's the premier tech in crush injuries. Apparently you have friends in high places now."

She tried to shrug, but realized it was impossible with the iron bra on. Instead she nodded. "Saved a few… rich kids." She almost coughed again, but he pressed a straw to her lips and she sipped on ice water. It soothed the scratchiness. "Thanks."

He rested his chin on the railing. "I saw the kid – Collin. He looked like a fighter."

"He is," she responded immediately. She desperately wanted to light that fire in her belly once more, but she was losing energy. She needed to sleep again. She twisted her hand around, twining her fingers with his, and whispered urgently, "He has to make it."

Owen swallowed, his frowning a little. "Right now it's too-"

"He has to make it," Cristina repeated, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "He has to make it… or I won't… I won't… I can't."

"Hey, hey," Owen sat up a little, running his hand down her cheek. It was partially for comfort, and partially to hold her still. She saw a flash of panic in his eyes, and wondered what had brought it on. "Cristina, your temperature is spiking. Are you in pain? Give me a clue here."

She shut her eyes tightly, focusing on staying still. She knew that she was trembling violently. Her teeth were beginning to chatter. Her muscles were completely out of her control. She bit down as hard as she could and turned her head to the side, taking deep, painful breaths through her nose. She felt nauseous. Her stomach rolled in every direction.

Within seconds the situation became something else entirely. She was no longer an injured party being visited by old friends. Her bed was being flattened and her friends turned back into doctors. Meredith returned, and she saw Derek flash by, but opening her eyes became a chore. She felt tired, like she had been walking through deep mud all day. Deep down, where her logic lived, she realized that her heart was slowing. Her pulse was no longer rapid. Her fever was flashing away. For a split second she knew that she was about to have a seizure, and then everything cut off.

**XxX**

"I've got no pulse!"

He hated those words, but he shouted them anyway. Robotically, he told the room that she had just died. He worked without thought, shoving the blankets away, collapsing the rails, ushering the crash cart closer. He attached the prongs to the leads Callie had installed the day before – the 'just in case' access to her heart. He ordered all hands to jump back, and then he shocked her.

"I'm going again, recharging!"

It was funny that this was happening to him, not because he found the thought of losing her amusing, but because he had just been reflecting on how amazing medicine could be. He had forgotten to account for the random chance of relapse. He had forgotten that people sometimes confounded every attempt to save their lives. It figured that Cristina would be one of those people.

"Charge it again! Clear!"

She jumped on the table. The heart monitor went off like a car alarm. For a moment she was still, her heart hammering against the silence of death, and then she started convulsing again.

Owen hauled her onto her side, watching in horror as blood sprayed from her mouth. She was bleeding internally. How had they missed that? Her seizures simmered down to a few twitches and the bed became mobile. He followed her mindlessly, his eyes locked onto her face – her rapidly fading, blood spattered, bruised face.

Meredith stopped him at the OR doors. He tried to push past her, but she was standing firm.

"I'm going in! Get out of my way, or I'll move you."

"Your hands are shaking, Owen!"

He looked down, his panic screeching to a halt when he realized she was right. His hands was bloody and shaky. He felt unsteady. Meredith put both hands on his shoulders and turned him the other way, urging him down the hall. "We can handle this."

She left him there, but it took him a few moments to realize he was alone. The hallway had gone from deafeningly loud to ominously silent. Drops of blood led into the OR, and the doors had just become still. He stood there for a while just staring at those doors, his hands suspended in front of him. The whole world was trembling beneath his feet.

He went to the first sink he could find, scrubbing her blood away, and then, with no better place to be, he wandered toward her room. It reminded him of the plane ride over – the desperation with which he waited, and it brought back the short, damaging conversation he had had with Amelia. Explaining this to her was impossible, and he had made the mistake of trying.

It was over with her. He knew it was.

He was stopped before he made it to the room. He saw a plastic basinet in the center of a floor, and he remembered what Cristina had said. She was attached to that baby.

He veered into its room, finding a sad scene. Collin was lying in the middle of the basinet, one leg strapped down, the other badly bruised. His right tibia had been broken, and it had almost been lost to compartment syndrome, but Cristina had relieved the pressure while they were still underground. Callie had assisted with his surgery and everyone had been thinking positively, but then the infection started to take hold. He was being overwhelmed by it.

He was being isolated. His basinet had a cover over the top, with several warnings on the sides about keeping it closed. A lamp overhead was keeping him warm. Everything about him, from his temperature to the steady beating of his heart, was displayed on three monitors sitting behind his little cage. He could live. It was still very possible.

But his tiny eyes were shut, and he showed no signs of stirring.

Owen sat down beside him, pulling his chair a little closer and looking through the plastic. "Hang in there little guy," he whispered. "Both of you need to hang on."

Shane came in, regarding him coldly. He was not a fan of Owen. It had been clear from the moment he had arrived. He wondered what Cristina had told him. He came up to the plastic, ignoring Owen as he looked in on the baby. His eyes were slightly red.

"How is… how is Cristina doing?" Owen asked.

It almost seemed that Shane would ignore him, or say something mean in return, but the hostility dropped out of his face. He looked like a kid. "I don't know. They wouldn't let me in."

He had only been here for a short time, but he gathered that Shane loved Cristina. Whether it was platonic, or romantic, the kid had strong feelings for her, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It bled through his eyes, in the way he held himself. It was the same way Owen felt – that losing her would set the world off-balance.

"How is the other one? The woman she was with?"

"Phyllis is fine. She'll be fine." He pressed his hand to the plastic, as if wishing he could reach in and touch the baby. "You know before… before this happened, Cristina and I had a fight about this kid. The last thing I said to her before… I said she deserved whatever she got."

"You were fighting about Collin?"

Shane glanced up, his eyes uncertain. "It was stupid. It was a stupid fight about nothing."

"Yeah, we had a lot of those, too."

Shane dipped down, pressing his forehead to the plastic, getting as close as he could to the baby. "You keep fighting, Collin. I promise I'll make it up to you when you get better." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "Just get better, okay?"

"Dr. Ross-"

"I'm gonna go see if there's any news," Shane cut him off, standing straight suddenly and leaving the room. His footsteps were rushed, but there was a certain reluctance in his stride.

Owen sat back in his chair, taking a few deep breaths to try and center himself. He created a list in his head, organizing his priorities for the moment. Cristina was at the top. She might die soon. He did his best to normalize that fact. He had to get over the fear if he was going to be useful to her. Keeping her alive meant forgetting, if only for a moment, that he couldn't survive without her.

He walked down the hallway, stopping near the OR to listen to Alex update the resident on her condition. Her stats were all over the place. It was a common thing when trauma was involved.

He went to the door, detaching himself from the woman dying on that table. He was just a surgeon, and she was just a patient. He went right past Alex, stepping into the scrub room and cutting the water on. His eyes were fixated on the next room over, where over a dozen doctors and nurses were battling her downhill spiral.

He looked down, realizing that his hands had stopped shaking.


	32. Bargaining

**Bargaining.**

**December 25, 2015.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

It was the middle of the afternoon, almost twelve hours since her heart had stopped beating. Owen sat outside her room, listening to her friends talk quietly within, wondering if the steady beeping of the heart monitor would cut out again. He had fallen asleep for a few hours around dawn, plagued with anxious dreams, but he was determined to stay awake until her condition improved. Sleep could wait. Cristina was all that mattered.

Chairs stirred inside the room. Derek was saying something. His wife responded in a soft murmur, and the others chimed in. Seconds later the grizzled neurosurgeon emerged, tugging his forgotten surgery cap off and running his hands roughly through his hair. He looked at Owen, smiled slightly, and leaned against the opposite wall, a characteristically kind expression overshadowing his tired eyes. For a while Owen had wondered if he would get along with Derek, because both men were headstrong and used to getting their own way, but he had proven to be a loyal friend. Somehow they became closer after Cristina left – he would almost credit Amelia for it, but she and Derek were a little bristly with each other. Looking at him now, Owen realized that Derek had grown on him. He had come to overlook his imperfections for the kind person underneath.

Derek looked at him in the same way, and though they never spoke of it, Owen sensed the feeling was mutual. "Meredith wants to keep her sedated for another twenty-four hours. It should give her a better chance the next time she wakes up. I agreed with her."

"Did she give the order?"

"I came out to ask you what you think," Derek said, folding his scrub cap carefully and tucking it into his back pocket. It was a habit he had developed after performing tricky procedures back at Grey-Sloan. Owen suspected it made him feel less helpless.

Cristina had chosen Meredith to be her healthcare proxy a long time ago. He had brought it up a few times when they were married, curious about that decision, but she kept it to herself. He had no objections to keeping Cristina sedated, so he nodded. "Sounds good. She needs more time to rest, more time to get over the trauma of the fall."

"Come with me to check on the baby."

Owen frowned. "Did he wake up?"

"No, not yet, but I want to try something on him. Besides, I'm supposed to be getting the food, and I don't want to try to navigate Zurich alone again. Come on. It'll do you some good to get out of this hallway. I think you're starting to fuse with that chair."

For the first time since he had seen Cristina that morning, Owen smiled. It sounded like something she would say. It gave him another breath of life, but at the same time it made him sad. He thought he might never hear her say something snarky like that again. Soon the memories of it would be too far gone, and the sound would leave him.

"Cristina is tough as nails," Derek said, stepping toward him. He must have noticed what was going on in Owen's head. He patted him roughly on the shoulder, urging him up. "She would kick you if she saw you moping like that. Come on."

He was right about that. Owen hauled himself out of his chair, cringing when his muscles started to cramp. He stretched, staggering down the hallway after Derek. His friend went straight to the other room, where the little isolation tank was providing a soft glow to showcase the broken baby sleeping inside it. It looked eerie and depressing.

Derek spoke to the baby like he was awake. "Hey, little guy. Sorry to bother you again so soon, but I thought I should check on that little head of yours."

Owen drifted closer, forgetting his sadness for the moment. He had never seen a baby that small with compartment syndrome, and it was even stranger that the little guy had survived. He was the one who was tough as nails. And now, with an infection running rampant in his flesh, his heart was still pumping strongly, and oxygen was still finding its way to every limb – even the broken one. He was a tiny miracle, struggling just as hard as Cristina to stay alive.

"Shane says she loves this kid," Derek commented, leaning over the plastic. He had the soft eyes of a father as he gazed down at the baby. He looked at his son the same way.

Owen had heard about that by listening to the others. He had hardly believed it until he had spoken with Cristina that morning. He heard her asking Meredith about the baby. He felt her grief like a fog in the air. She truly loved this baby, and Owen hated to think of how she might react if this infection killed him. Could she survive another loss like that?

"I wanna try something," Derek said, unlocking the little container. He came over to Owen's side and unlocked it, pulling the top off and setting it in the nearby chair. "Pick him up."

Owen hesitated, his hands hovering over the baby, but he realized that he wanted him out of that little box. He dug his fingers carefully beneath him, one hand supporting the big splint on his leg, and lifted him from his bed. He was light for his age, and smaller than normal. Owen had seen babies in worse condition, dotted with bruises and critical bone breaks – Collin could count himself lucky for the meager injuries he had sustained. It was the recent developments, the infection and the coma, that had put his life on the line.

He fit easily into Owen's arms. His weight was barely noticeable. Owen noted a spike in his heartbeat, veering toward the normal rhythm of a nine-month-old. He fit the baby against his chest, grabbing the chair and dragging it behind him.

"Look at his heartrate," Derek murmured.

"It's normalizing," Owen responded. He watched in wonder as the monitor sped up, settling on a pulse similar to his own. Collin was responding to his touch. It was a primitive brain function, but still a good sign. "Where did you get this idea from?"

"Karev did it once. The baby was younger, but the concept is the same. I think it works for adults, too. Being close to someone, even an animal, makes patients more likely to recover."

Owen stared down at the baby. "Planning your next clinical trial already?"

"Oh, no, I'm not going down that road again." Derek crouched beside him, toying with the baby's hand. He was still smiling. "Look at that. He's taking deeper breaths."

"I guess you'll have to navigate Zurich alone after all."

Derek's smile deepened and he moved the chair a little closer, holding the wires up so Owen could get adjusted. He circled the little box, putting half of the latches back on so it was cracked open. He hooked up an oxygen lead and snaked some nasal prongs around to his nostrils. His nose proved too small, so he went with the teeny baby oxygen mask instead. It made Collin seem smaller.

"You can handle him," Derek said, adjusting the oxygen until he was satisfied with the vapor pumping into the mask. His eyes were a tad brighter than before. "I'll be back soon."

"If you don't get that food, I think Callie might start taking hostages." Owen had been late with lunch one evening at the hospital and she had warped into a passive aggressive monster for three days. She took two things very seriously – her kid and her food.

Derek nodded vigorously, hanging in the doorframe for a moment, "I'm not taking any chances."

Once he was gone, the room seemed much sadder. Owen held the baby up against his chest, glancing over his wounds, trying to figure out his dreams from the flicker of his eyelids. He had seen the mother very briefly, but it was long enough to know that this baby looked nothing like her. He must have been a mirror image of his father. Owen wondered where he might be, and why the mother, who had been awake for a while now, had not asked about this baby. He had heard she was doing paperwork in her room, harassing the nursing staff like any hospitalized surgeon would. Her indifference was foreign to him. He knew so many loving parents.

He sat that way for over an hour, practicing stillness despite the boy's comatose state. It still looked like he was sleeping, like his little eyes could flicker open at any moment. It had been a long time since Owen had had the privilege of holding a teeny baby like this. Most of the time he was stretching them out, pinning them down, and trying to keep their guts in their bellies.

It was quiet there, almost serene. The beeping of the heart monitor, now synced with his own pulse, faded into the background. He watched the baby's levels fluctuate, glad when they evened out. He was finally responding to the antibiotics, coming back from the edge of sepsis.

"Look at you, kicking that infection's ass," Owen cooed.

He leaned back, supporting the baby on one arm so he could free up his hand. He ran his fingers over his cheek, brushing some of that pale blonde hair away from his face.

When the door opened he looked up, expecting to find Derek, arms weighed down by fast food bags, but it was Shane. He looked even crankier than he had that morning, a scowl aging his young face. He still had no patience for Owen. He came in, glanced around, checked the machines, and then stood on the other side of the box, gazing at the baby.

"His infection is going away," Owen said, looking between the young resident and Collin. "His fever is dropping and his heartrate is normalizing. He might wake up today."

Shane didn't make eye contact. "She won't."

"She needs time to heal."

"It's been two days."

"Then give her three."

He looked up suddenly, glaring at Owen. "Why aren't you in there with her, if you care so much?"

"Why aren't you?"

His aggression faltered and he looked away. "I don't belong with them anymore."

"Did Switzerland declare war on Seattle without my knowledge?"

Shane said nothing.

"You should go in, if that's where you want to be."

His eyes flickered up, moving from Owen to the baby, and back again. "Is that where you want to be?"

Owen considered denying it, but he was too tired to put together a good red herring. He just leaned back, rolling his head around to pinch the ache out of his neck. "I want to be in there more than anything, but the best that I can do for Cristina right now is this, holding this baby."

Shane was thoughtful for a while, retreating into his own mind. His hostility departed and he brought in another chair from the hall, setting it nearby and sitting on the edge. He only had eyes for the baby, considering it, contemplating what Owen had said to him. When he finally spoke his voice was a decade younger, his eyes glassy with naivety.

"I just… I was thinking that if the baby woke up, if Collin was fine, she might be fine, too. She has to be, right? If Collin can survive this… Cristina can survive this."

"You need to stop that," Owen murmured.

Shane frowned, blinking away the moisture pooling in the bottoms of his eyes. "Stop what?"

"Stop bargaining."


	33. Rekindling

**A/N: I wanted to stop and say that I really love to read the reviews for this story. I don't write a lot of author's notes because I don't really know how to express my gratitude, but, trust me, I am amazed every time I grapple with the idea that someone actually likes my writing. Hearing from you guys is amazing. And trust me, this story has a long way to go before it is complete. There are many fluffy Crowen moments to be explored. Also, I wanted to note that I am not 32, but feel free to guess again!**

XxX

**Rekindling.**

**December 26, 2015.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She lost track of herself – of everything, really – when her wheelchair rolled into the doorway. She put on her brave face, her thoughtful face, and stared at the man sitting against the far wall. He had Collin in his arms. The pint-sized baby looked smaller than ever, his fair white skin dotted with bruises, his chubby little leg suspended in a hefty cast. His eyes were closed lightly, like they could open at any moment, but the brain waves rolling across one of the monitors indicated that he was in a deep, hazy slumber. Despite his appearance, and evident exhaustion of the man holding him, there was hope in her heart. Collin had strong vitals. He had the potential to come back from this. He was definitely strong enough, to have survived the initial fall and the infection in his leg. If he died now it would just be a waste. It would be a waste of such a promising life.

Meredith was her chauffeur, and she seemed to sense when the time was right to wheel Cristina a little closer. She stopped alongside the little box designed for critically injured babies, walking around the wheelchair to greet Owen. She looked back at Cristina, smiling diplomatically.

"Hey," Owen murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His brightened when he looked at her, whitening his tired, veiny eyes. She had seen him go without sleep for days, when the nightmares haunted him, or when they got a nasty shift at the hospital, but it meant more to her now. She knew why he was so tired. He was worried about her. He was scared for her.

She looked between his face and Collin's, concerned that they were both the same sickly shade. "You look like crap," she said, clearing her throat. It still felt raspy. "Take a shower."

He smiled. It was a captivating expression. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm always okay," she responded shortly, edging forward in her chair. Meredith sensed the inevitable face plant and wheeled her beside Owen. She leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "You should get some sleep, Mer," Cristina said, grabbing her friend's hand. She was kind of chilly. "I can wheel myself back."

"No, I'm fine."

"You've gotten less sleep than me," Owen cut in. "I can handle things here. Go back to the hotel. I'll call you if anything changes."

"Or I'll call you, because I'm not dead," Cristina said, not even glancing back at Owen.

"Or she'll call you," Owen conceded.

Meredith looked doubtful, but the desire to sleep won her over. She squeezed Cristina's hand and left the room, casting regretful glances at the two of them all the way out. Her expression made Cristina wonder just how close she had come to dying – and if it would happen again, as Meredith seemed to expect. Her concern was starting to make Cristina nervous.

She sat in silence for a while, her head resting against the back of the wheelchair, her eyes on the baby. Owen was watching her, reading her face, trying to glean what he could from her somber expression. She wanted to talk to him, but her throat ached, and she was starting to feel tired again. Even though she had just awakened, she could feel herself falling asleep. She knew that Owen was aware of this. He seemed reluctant to move, even though his limbs were probably cramping. When he did dare to shift around, he did it quietly, always watching her.

"You can stop that," she said at last, looking up into his face.

He frowned. "Stop what?"

"Stop whatever you're doing – staring at me. Stop staring at me."

"I was just-"

"If you keep expecting me to crash, that's exactly what's going to happen. So stop it. It's creepy. I get enough of that from Meredith."

He glanced away, and then his eyes ventured back to hers. "Sorry. I just thought… maybe you would want to talk. About things."

She was going to say something mean, if only to sate the thirst for vengeance brought on by a searing headache, but she stopped herself. Her mood softened at the sweet look on his face. It brought back the side of her that had been married to him, the side that had adored that face for years. She was weak for it, and he knew it.

"What kinds of things?" she asked.

He smiled, perhaps realizing that his puppy face had worked, and glanced down at Collin. "These kinds of things. This is new. You never mentioned him."

"We never talked."

His smile faltered. "That was a mistake."

She considered him, tipping her head back a little. "You moved on, Owen. When you get a new girlfriend you usually stop texting your ex-wife."

"You're not just…" he pressed his lips together, seeming a little frustrated. His voice lowered, as if he expected someone else to overhear him. His voice became urgent. "You're not just… you're my friend. You mean… you mean a lot to me. You always will. We should have… talked."

"The phone works both ways."

He grimaced. "I thought you wanted it that way."

"I didn't. I don't."

His eyes narrowed. His urgency was replaced with hope. "After this – I mean after we go back to Seattle – we should keep in touch. I want to know about stuff like this. This is great," he was looking down at the baby.

"This is… not really anything," she admitted. When she got a strange look from Owen, she looked away, hating the empathy in his eyes. "He has a mother. I don't… I mean I couldn't… It doesn't matter what I… feel for him. He's not mine."

She felt a warm hand on her arm, and the sensation brought a tears to her eyes. It stung to admit it out loud, to divulge this fear.

She had to change the subject. It was so easy to pour her soul out to Owen, but so damaging. "What about Amelia? How will she feel about us keeping in touch?"

Owen was quiet. She had to look over before he spoke. He had a gentle smile on his face, the kind of smile that knew exactly what she was doing. "Nice Segway. Very authentic." His hand slipped from her arm and he shifted the baby onto his other arm. He was looking at the basinet when he spoke. "I don't know if we're still… I left the afternoon you called me. She had this look on her face…"

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't make the sinkhole."

"I stepped in it."

He smirked. "I think she knew that no matter what happened… if it was you, I would always come. I think she knew that I'm still in love with you."

She stared at him, waiting for him to chuckle and shrug those words away, but his expression grew serious all of the sudden. She wanted to look away from his intense eyes, and yet they drew her in. She had spent a small minority of her life with this feeling – the feeling of being loved. She wasn't sure if she had ever fallen out of love with him, but faced with it now, she didn't want to know. She didn't want to address it. She didn't want to be here.

"I-I need to go back to my room."

His expression shifted. He was unsure now. He pulled out his phone, tapped on it a few times, and then pressed it to his ear, glancing down as if checking that the baby was still in a coma. Cristina heard Derek on the other end – the mastermind behind the kangaroo care Collin was currently receiving. Owen asked him to come over, and then hung up.

She expected him to say something, to push her to respond to his revelation, but he was silent. His uncertainty morphed back into gentle empathy. His eyes hung heavy on his face.

"Owen…" she wanted to come up with a great answer for him_. I love you, too. I wish you would stay here_. She had the words, but not the strength to speak. She was afraid to say such things. He had a life in Seattle, and she had a life here. One of them would have to ruin their career if they were to be together, and they had both worked so hard to get where they were. It hurt her heart to know that he would leave soon, that they would break their agreement to stay in contact, that they would drift away again, until another holiday brought them together.

Years would pass, and he would move on. That fire he showed when he professed his love would simmer down. He would forget his dedication to her. It was a scary thing to imagine, but even scarier was her part in it. Could she ever stop longing for him?

He was watching her again, thoughtful. He stood up, cradling the baby delicately in both arms and then setting him down in his basinet. He replaced the lid, tapping the hinges to make sure they were sturdy, and then he came back to her. He leaned over her chair, his hands braced on either armrest. She leaned back, veering away from his invasion much like she had the day they had first met. He stared at her intently, a slow smile coming to his cheeks, and then he kissed her.

It was a sweet kiss, much tamer than their first had been, and yet it filled her stomach with butterflies. It was over as quickly as it had started, and he hovered there, his beautiful blue eyes fixated on hers, smiling like he'd just won a prize.

From the doorway, Derek cleared his throat.

Cristina jumped a little, looking away from the neurosurgeon's cold eyes. He was glaring at Owen, perhaps realizing that his sister was suddenly single. He swept past Owen, grabbing the handles on Cristina's wheelchair and pushing her aggressively out of the room.

She was almost positive he was going to suffocate her with a pillow.

Her room was empty – devoid of witnesses. Derek wheeled her up to the bed and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment before he came to her side. He ran his hands through his hair. "I think… um… I won't mention this to Amelia."

She stared at the far wall. "I can get up myself. It's fine."

He laughed a little sadly, and then gave her a genuine smile. He reached around her, getting a hand under her arm, and lifted her out of her chair, placing her gently on the bed. He pulled the covers up to her stomach, nudging the chair into the corner.

"I didn't think that he would…" Cristina tried to explain.

Derek shrugged. "Neither did I. If you need me to punch him, I can do that."

"And ruin your surgery hand again?"

He chuckled. "I think it would be worth it."

"Derek… what about Collin?"

His mood shifted. He rubbed his face, sinking into one of the reclining chairs and relaxing into it. "Kids are hard. We have done the least amount of research into comatose children under one year of age. Generally I would put it at a week before he starts to deteriorate, but every case is different. If he wakes up, he'll live. If he doesn't…"

"He will."

Derek glanced up. "Of course he will." He shut his eyes, groaning softly. "Shouldn't you be yelling at Ross over speakerphone? It's been at least two hours since he's had a good berating."

She smiled. She had left Shane in charge of her paperwork, her trial patients, and the research into the defect that was slowly killing John Baxter. He was doing well under the pressure, but she had been calling throughout the day to make sure her hospital wasn't burning to the ground.

"He's still a baby surgeon. I have to keep tabs on him."

"He came from the first batch, right after you became a resident. He has a lot of experience." He stretched out, kicking his shoes off. His voice got further and further away. "I almost wish he would have stuck with neuro. He could have been great."

"He _is_ great," she corrected.


	34. Acceptance

**Acceptance.**

**January 10, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

It was dark at last. Cristina rolled through the hallway, almost taking out an elderly couple as she made her way down to the pediatric ICU. Shane was already waiting near the back, cooing over the nine-month-old with bandages completely enveloping his right leg. When he saw Cristina coming, he stepped in front of the patient, blocking her access.

"I told you to rest," he said.

"I told you to go screw yourself," Cristina reminded him, craning her neck to see the baby. Her face lit up at the sight of him moving around. "Look at that!"

Shane smiled, lifting Collin out of his protective bed and placing him in her arms. It felt nice to hold him again, to see his eyes open and lively as he stared back at her. He was absolutely delighted, all day every day. His recovery from the coma had been sluggish, but Derek hung around and teased his brain out of its slumber. He had left two days ago, when the baby started giggling again. Derek said it was the best sign they could possibly see.

Her resident crouched in front of her, toying with Collin's hand. "Did the sun set already?"

Cristina looked up, unable to help the glitter in her eyes. "Yep." She bounced the baby a little. "I'm finally gonna blow this joint."

"Did Phyllis call yet?"

Cristina's mood soured. Phyllis had made a quicker recovery than both of them, despite being the nearest to death when they had been found. She had left days ago to continue her trial. Cristina had received a message from her. Evidently she was quitting and going to Brazil for a time to study a rare genetic disorder involving her patients. Since then, Cristina had tried not to think about her, or what might happen to the baby she left behind.

She skipped over his question, lifting the baby up a little. "Here, take him. I want to stand up."

She had shed the metal cage on her chest yesterday, and even though there were deep impressions in her skin from where it had closed around her ribs, she felt massively healthier. Shane took the baby in one arm and helped her up, hovering, as always, when she started walking around.

"What do you think will happen to Collin?"

She glanced at Shane, frowning. "Dude, stop that."

"It's something you need to consider," Shane responded.

She sighed. "Foster care, I guess. I don't know. She didn't leave anything… she didn't leave any instructions for him, so I… I don't know, Shane."

"You should take him."

"What?"

"You should take him. He loves you, and you're great with him." Shane readjusted the baby in his arms, careful of his cast. "Do you really want him in foster care?"

"Oh come on. You can't believe all the horror stories you hear."

"Look at him," Shane urged, twisting him so Cristina could see the entirety of the baby's adorable face. "Do you really want some stranger taking care of him?"

"I'm basically a stranger," Cristina reminded him.

He lowered his voice a little, realizing they were starting to attract the attention of the nurses. "You sat by his bedside every day. You were the first face he saw when he woke up. Derek and I were talking about it. He said the same thing – he said you would be a great mom to him."

Cristina went back to her wheelchair, sinking into it. "Stop with the crazy talk."

"It's not crazy talk."

"It is," she snapped. "Just shut up."

"I just think you should consider-"

"Shane, don't make me pop a stitch by slapping you."

He set his jaw, irritated, and handed the baby back to her. "What happens in a few weeks, or a few months, or a few years, when you realize you've made the wrong decision?"

He left with those words, making a dramatic exit through the swinging doors. She watched him go, regretting pissing him off. He had been through hell in the last few weeks, taking on the responsibilities she usually handled at the hospital. At the same time she was glad he was gone. He had a habit of babying her, and she didn't need that right now. She needed someone to scream at her, to tell her what she was supposed to do.

She was joined by another man, one who was even less likely to scream at her, and she gave him an unwilling smile. She always smiled when she recalled that he could have gone home a long time ago, but he lingered anyway. He was here as much as Shane was.

"Tonight's the night," he said as he crouched down beside her. He grinned at the baby. "You guys can finally get out of those silly gowns."

Cristina drew in a deep breath. "Shane made a good point about that."

"What was that?" Owen wondered, his eyes still full of life. Everything was a miracle to him these days. He just seemed so happy to be there.

She hated to rain on his parade. "Since his mother left him here, with no indication of coming back, the hospital will call social services upon his discharge. He'll be a ward of the state unless Phyllis comes back and decides to give parenting another shot."

Owen frowned. It was an expression she disliked seeing on his otherwise exuberant face. "I… I hadn't even thought of that. There must be something we can do."

"Even if… even if I did what Shane wanted… even if I wanted to adopt him, it would be impossible." She noticed his eyes glowing at the mention of it, so she shut that idea down. "It's impossible, Owen. They can't just adopt him out like that. They have to wait to make sure Phyllis isn't coming back, and then they go through all these channels, and it's not even certain I would be approved. I'm not mother-of-the-year material."

"I wouldn't think any of that would stop you," Owen said simply.

She shook her head. "I don't think you're hearing me."

"I heard you. You said it would take time, and you've got time, right? Collin may grow up a little in the process but he's still the same kid. You think it's worth it, don't you?"

She couldn't even believe they were having this conversation. "I don't want a kid, Owen."

"I know you don't want _a_ kid. You want this kid."

She stared down at the baby, surprised by the validity of his words. Years ago she had had this argument with him, intent that she didn't want to raise a child, but when she looked down at Collin, she got the feeling that she wasn't talking about him. He was not a part of that. He was something else. She had grown accustomed to the idea of holding him. She was intrigued by the idea of watching him grow – she had already seen him grow so much.

She was captivated by his beautiful blue eyes, and how much he seemed to trust her. He was only here because of her, after all. He only got to keep his leg because of her intervention. He might have not been born at all, if she hadn't hired Phyllis in the bar that night.

"Just… just stop saying that," she murmured. She switched her eyes to Owen, also taken by the trust in him. She had forgotten how familiar his face was, how easy it was to just _look_ at him. "Owen… I can't just… Collin needs… he needs someone… someone better than me. He needs a soccer mom, someone who will kiss his booboos, someone who… someone who…"

"In my experience," Owen whispered, placing his hand on her knee, "Kids just want someone to love them. I think the rest just falls into place."

She drew in another hard breath, considering his words. She could remember bits and pieces of her childhood before the devastating loss of her father. She could remember how much effort he put into her education, how many tireless nights he sat up with her, laughing and teaching. When she thought about love, she thought about him. Could she give that to Collin?

Owen was quiet for a little while, watching her, and then he stood and took the baby gently from her arms. "I'll talk to the hospital staff, see if they put that call in to social services yet."

"I think I'll stay here… until they come for him."

XxX

She lay awake in bed, staring at her ceiling. It had scuff marks on it from the dozens of pencils she had thrown up there, trying desperately to get one to stick. So far she had been unlucky. She was surrounded by the broken pieces of her failure.

Shane was beside her, having crept in earlier to try and convince her to stop ruining the ceiling. He had lingered to stare at it with her, deep in thought himself. Cristina was glad for the company. It was her first night in her own bed after the accident, and she didn't like the idea of being alone in the dark for too long. It brought the sinkhole to mind.

"What did they say to you when they took him?"

She blinked, jumping onto his train of thought. "I got the paperwork. She said there was a good chance I would be approved, and that he would go to me. But she couldn't be sure."

"They have to say that."

"I know."

He was quiet, and then he stirred, pulling a pencil out from under him. "I looked up the process online. Apparently you have to do a series of background checks and what not to even initiate it."

"I filled out some forms for that," Cristina responded. "Forked over a few hundred dollars."

"Do you think you'll pass?"

"I have a few tickets, some drunk and disorderly calls from college, but I'm mostly squeaky clean. Except for the other incidents. I mean, the plane crash thing."

"I don't think they'll look into that."

Cristina turned on her side, cringing when she felt a pull in her skin. Sometimes it felt like she was a patchwork monster, barely held together by twine and bubblegum. "What if they find out I'm completely insane?"

He turned toward her, amused. "What if they don't find anything, and they approve you?"

She frowned. "What am I doing?"

He shut his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. "Well, you're adopting a baby. Or you're trying to."

"How did I agree to this?"

"I think Owen convinced you."

"I hope his plane crashes."

Shane blinked, staring at her.

She sighed. "Okay, I take that back. I just hope he stubs his toe or something. What a jerk."

"I know."

"Convincing people to adopt babies, and then flying back to Seattle."

"How inconsiderate of him."

"I have other things to think about," Cristina went on. "I have pins and needles in my body. I have a whole hospital to run. I have a surgery to fabricate to fix an unfixable birth defect."

"Is he coming back?"

"I'm not sure. He has a life in Washington. He's supposed to be running the trauma department. He has… he has Amelia, I think. He said something about her. I think I started tuning him out. I hate it when he calls me – he puts his face too close to the phone."

"He didn't profess his love for you again?"

She groaned. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Sure you do."

"I really don't."

"But I know that you do. So talk."

She twisted her lips, reluctant to bring it up again. "I think we both tried to forget it ever happened. He never brought it up…"

"He convinced you to adopt a baby, and yet he never mentioned that he was still in love with you?"

"No. He just… he just looked happy."

"I almost wish he wasn't."

Cristina pulled the pillows up under her neck, relaxing into them. She almost felt that she could sleep, that she could forget about this strange day, but she wanted to keep talking to Shane. His voice was holding her to the world. Without it, she would lose this tenuous acceptance.

"I wish he was miserable," Shane went on. He flopped over onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. It was his trademark thinking pose. "I mean, he left you here. He said he loved you, kissed you, and left you here. I want him to do more than stub his toe."

"Are you sure you're not my gay best friend?"

He cocked an eyebrow, and then smiled. "Shut up."

"I kind of agree with you," she murmured. "I have a feeling he's not coming back. I think he was happy because… happy because I was moving on, and that meant he could, too."

"Is that what you're doing? Moving on?"

"I thought I already had." She sighed. "Men are so complicated."

He was silent.

"But if I were to move on from him… if Collin was my way of moving on… would that be such a bad thing? I know that I'll miss him. I know that what we had… what I loved in him… will never be completely gone… but I feel something different for Collin. It's almost like…"

"Like he could make you happy in a different way?"

"You watch too much Oprah," Cristina quipped. She cracked her eyes, watching his face light up with another boyish smile. "And yes. I guess that's what I was trying to say."

"So you are going through with this? You're really getting the process started?"

"Owen said that kids just wanted to be loved," she said wistfully, almost talking to herself. "I know that there are plenty of people out there who would be good parents for him, but I know that I can, too. Or… I guess I can. I think I can. I want to try. I think he trusts me."

"He makes you happy."

"He makes me… forget that I'm supposed to be sad."

"Just shut up and accept it." Shane grinned, sitting up suddenly. He leaned over, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Just accept your impending motherhood with dignity."

She smiled up at him. She still felt the cloud of doubt stirring inside, the fear that Owen was gone for good this time, the uncertainty about his motives involving Collin, but there was also a fragile excitement. Her absentee friend had given her the opportunity to be happy with another man – even if that man was nine months old and had a bum leg.

"Shut up, Shane. Go get me some alcohol."

"I'm not getting you any alcohol."

"Then bring me my wheelchair."

"You're out of luck."

"I will crawl out of this bed, Shane."

"I'll get the video camera."

"_Shane_."


	35. Conflict

**Conflict.**

**July 5, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Her pen hovered over the dotted line. It was really time to do this. She wrote her name in elegant cursive script, taking extra time to make sure everything was perfect. Sandra had a goofy smile on her face as she drew the papers back to her side of the table and pressed her stamp onto them. She signed beside the fresh ink, glancing up at Cristina a few times.

"I'm so happy this all worked out for you," Sandra said. Her voice was the same soft, sympathetic hum it had been the first time they'd met. She put the papers into her folder. "That was the last of them. If you feel ready, we can go pick him up now.

Cristina tried to get up, wincing a little when her butt got stuck in the tiny plastic chair. Sandra was having a similar issue. They had been sitting at a stout daycare table made of fake pencils, signing paperwork while avoiding stray crayon marks. Occasionally their conversation was marked by a screaming child in another room, and the head nurse passed by twice, smiling with just as much excitement as always. She was happy for Cristina, too. It was a common sentiment.

She ventured into the other room, where seven kids between the ages of six months and two years were playing under the supervision of a trained doctor. Every kid had their own disability, but most of them were mobile, with the exception of the six month old. She was sitting up happily in the arms of the doctor, attempting to clap with crooked, underdeveloped fingers.

When she was spotted by her favorite patient, he came hobbling across the room, almost falling three times but managing to right himself without doing his patented barrel roll.

She crouched down, hugging him when he crashed into her arms. He looked in good spirits, though lately he had been frustrated by his leg. She saw no sign of that in his eyes, which bubbled affectionately. It was the same routine every week. Collin had no way of knowing that this was not a normal day. He led her back to his toy for the day – a xylophone with one of the keys missing – and started banging on it, looking back to make sure she saw him.

"Wow," she said, taking a seat beside him. Sandra was standing in the doorway, grinning as she watched them, and the doctor had struck up a conversation with her. Cristina no longer cared what they might be talking about.

Collin gave her a tour of the area, and then, after they had been playing for hours, he curled up in her arms, his bad leg sticking out, and held onto the collar of her shirt. It was a habit she attributed to their time in the cave – it was the same way he had clung to her when he was injured. He must have remembered it on some level. It amazed her, and enthralled her.

She carried him over to Sandra, who had taken a seat at another tiny table. Collin grinned when he saw Sandra, having seen her every week, as well, while they handled the paperwork.

"I can't believe I can finally leave with him," Cristina said, stroking the boy's hair back. It was starting to grow into a curly mess. "It feels like it was just… just yesterday, you know? Oh, god, that sounded like a cliché. What am I saying?"

Sandra laughed. "I hear that a lot when kids are involved."

"But it really does," Cristina said, pressing a kiss to his feather-soft head. He was playing with the hem of her shirt, moving it around in his tiny fingers. She couldn't help the smile on her face. It was just part of her now. "I have some friends coming over from the States to meet him – to really meet him – next week. I wanted to let him get settled. Is that a good idea?"

"It's fine," Sandra said. She could always sense Cristina's anxiety. "You have good instincts."

Cristina glanced up, finding the eyes of the doctor on her. "What were you guys talking about earlier, anyway? I've never actually heard her say anything."

"She only speaks German. She was telling me how often you came by. She wanted to know if everything went as planned, and she was happy that it worked out."

Cristina swallowed, looking back at the kid in her arms. "Is it okay to panic a little bit?"

"It's okay. Just remember that you know exactly what you're doing."

"Right." Cristina took a deep breath. "I think… I think I can take him home now. Do you think it's time? Or should we stay here for a little longer?"

"What do you want to do?"

Cristina stood up, holding him securely in both arms. She was always afraid of dropping him. "I want to take him home now. I want to show him his room."

"Okay." Sandra's eyes were shining as she walked out to the car with Cristina. She dusted the snow off of the handle. "I'm glad he has someone like you. So many of those kids never find homes because people don't want the extra burden – and when they do find homes, when people believe in their hearts that they want a disabled child, they are returned to us. It takes a special kind of person. You are that kind of person, Dr. Yang."

Cristina loaded him into his seat, buckling him up. She saw an unmistakable excitement start up in him as he realized what was happening. Even at his age he could feel it.

"Time to go home, buddy," Cristina said, closing the door softly. She turned to hug Sandra, surprising herself with the display of affection. She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her for the kind-hearted social worker. It was too much to put off. "Thank you. I mean that."

Sandra stepped back to the door, still smiling warmly. "I'll see you soon."

Cristina drove home, her focus divided between the road and the rearview mirror. Collin looked confused. He seemed unsure about the situation. He had only been transported a few times in his young life – even fewer since joining the other kids at the rehabilitation center – and now the crazy lady who came to play with him all the time was taking him somewhere. It must have been strange for him. It was strange for her, too.

"It's okay," she said, noticing the subtle trembling starting up in his lip. "We're almost there."

He cried most of the way home. When she took him out at the house, he started wailing, hugging her shirt and then pushing her away. Shane opened the door for them, frowning at the sobbing toddler, and once they were inside, he bumped up the heat.

"What did you do to him?" Shane asked over the sound of a shrieking baby.

"Nothing!" Cristina snapped. She shrugged off her coat, trying to rock him to make him more comfortable. "He just started crying! He hates me!"

Shane directed her to the couch and dashed into the other room, where they had been hoarding toys for the last six months. He came back with a few stuff animals and a plastic truck. "Hey, hey, Collin, look at that! Look at that truck!"

Collin continued to cry. When the truck ploy failed, Cristina started bouncing him around the room, carrying him full circle three times. She took him to his new room last, sitting on the little racecar bed with him. It was only about four inches off of the ground, specially lowered so it would be easier for him to roll out with his injured leg. She had picked it out months ago, meandering between this and a pirate ship bed, but she had settled on this adorable little thing.

He reacted to it immediately, seemingly confused by the change in situation. At the rehab center he had slept in a crib in a room among other infants. Not only was he in this room alone – with toys all around – but he was sitting on a real bed.

"This is your bed," she said, patting the blankets in front of him.

He stared at her, tears still spilling down his little face. He only knew a few words so far, most of them relating to food, but he had one possession question down. "Mine?"

"Yes," Cristina confirmed, nodding.

He got up, wobbling around the room. He touched the giant stuffed bear in the corner – a baby-warming present from Callie and Arizona – and inquired, "Mine?"

Cristina nodded again.

He went to almost every toy in the room, asking specifically if it was his, and then he played with it for a few moments. He seemed delighted. Every now and then he would look over at her and shriek joyously, balling up his little fists, and then he would go back to his business.

Shane sat beside her on the racecar bed, and she realized that the two of them looked ridiculous. She punched him in the shoulder. "The bed was a stupid idea."

"What? Dr. Roberts said it would be easier for him to-"

"Not the height, you moron, the design. We should have got the pirate ship. It was so much cooler, and it had a top like a cave."

"Don't you think the skulls would have scared him?"

"No. He's a tough man, right Collin?"

Collin looked up and squealed, apparently irritated with the interruption. He was in the middle of pouring all of the blocks out of the brown tub in the corner. "Geeze, sorry," Cristina said, unable to help a smile. "Somebody needs his coffee."

"I think he likes his room," Shane commented.

"Stop fishing for compliments."

"I did pick most of this stuff out."

She looked over, ready to say something sarcastic, but her mood was too good. She just leaned into his shoulder and sighed. "You done good, Shane. You done good."

XxX

"I don't know what you want me to say."

He looking right at her, but he swore her mind was a million miles away. She had tears in her eyes, a dozen thoughts running through her mind. Whatever she had been ready to say to him, whatever the point of provoking this argument was, seemed to have left her. She just stared at him, and cried, and stuffed things into her pocketbook.

Owen followed her outside, stepping in front of her before she could make it to her car. He was experiencing the opposite of being at a loss for words – he had way too many. He had a hundred explanations planned out for her, a hundred excuses he could use to justify the things he had said. He could have talked his way out of it, and she would have listened. He knew that he had the potential to turn this argument around. He knew her well enough to pick at the weak parts, the sensitive parts, and make her reconsider her stance.

But he kept himself from doing it. Deep down, he didn't want her to stay. It burned on the surface, though. It had almost been two years since their introduction, since the strange threads of their romance had begun to come together. It burned to know that he would no longer wake up beside her, or goof off at the mall with her, or attend the family gatherings with her.

It hurt to know that those two years of his life were ending.

He saw something else in her departure, though, and he hoped she could not read it in his eyes. It was like his obligation had ended – his contract had expired. He was becoming a free agent, and suddenly his interests were much stronger. He knew exactly what he wanted, _who_ he wanted, and he was free to pursue her, if she would still have him. He would no longer live with the guilt of having his affections split between them. He would no longer have to contemplate the morality of letting his heart live with two different women.

He watched Amelia drive away, regretting how close he had been to her. Perhaps he should never have asked her out. Perhaps he should have remained alone all this time.

But he didn't know then how he would feel right now. Ever since the accident, ever since visiting her in that hospital in Switzerland, his mind had been focused on Cristina. He had started texting her again, beginning with simple things, like her trial and the weather out in Europe, and then it had become more familiar, something he had longed for. He realized that getting a call from her made his day brighter. It made him check his phone more. It actually excited him.

When he had gotten the news about her adoption going through that afternoon, he hadn't even realized how exuberant he had been while telling Amelia about it. He hadn't even realized that he was admitting how attached he was to another woman – one who he used to be married to.

She had said something about it. He had responded. Words became shouting, and shouting became screaming. Standing there in the front yard of his trailer, staring at the taillights of her little blue car, made him realize how long this had been brewing. She was not to blame. He had always put that conversation off. He had never given his heart credit for its ferocity.

But he knew it now. He stepped back inside, groaning as he laid down on his bed, formerly _their_ bed. He stared at the ceiling, tossing his baseball with his left hand.

His phone rang around midnight.

"Hey, is there a chord you can clip to stop this little jerk from crying?"

He smiled. He always smiled when he heard her voice – especially her irritated voice. He could hear a toddler wailing in the background. "I find that duct tape works best in those situations."

"Shut it, you little psycho!" Cristina shouted. When her voice came back to the phone, he heard a toddler giggling in the background. "Oh, jeez, he likes it when I call him that." Her voice went into a shout again. "Stop laughing! I'm taking you to the orphanage!"

He laughed to himself, already marveling at her parenting skills. "He already knows how to ignore your empty threats. Smart kid."

She was laughing, too. He knew none of the things she said were serious. She was head over heels for that kid. "This kid is on drugs," she complained. He heard a mattress moving under her. "And he refuses to sleep in his own bed. He's in my room right now. He has separation issues."

"He's been through a lot."

"If he pees in my bed, I swear I'll buy him a doghouse and put him outside."

"Right."

"I'm serious. I'll get him a little collar and everything. It'll be adorable."

Owen was quiet, listening to her conversation with the toddler. She was trying to explain that he needed to sleep in his bed, but the kid was just giggling away. She must have been tickling him, or perhaps her roommate was making faces.

"Owen," she said after a little while, her voice whiney. "Owen, I can't put him outside. He's so cute and cuddly. He's like a little tiny person."

"Children are generally like that."

"I wish you could see him. Here, wait a second, I'm sending you a picture."

He waited, his joy deepening when he received the picture. Cristina was sitting up on her bed in her nightshirt, a blonde-hair, blue-eyed baby boy cradled in her chest. She was smiling in a way that he had almost forgotten. It was the beautiful, unaffected smile she had worn when they first met. It was the innocence that life had taken from her, returned only by that child.

He put the phone back to his ear. "Cute."

"Isn't he?"

"I wasn't talking about the baby."

"You pig."

"What?"

"Not in front of the baby."

She hated it when he flirted with her. It was adorable. She turned into a teenage girl every time he brought up how beautiful she was. "I don't think he can hear me. Come on, send another picture."

"Uncle Owen is a pervert," she said in her baby voice. He heard her rocking around on the bed. "Remind me to put pants on before I send him pictures from now on."

He snorted. "Thereby ruining all of my fun."

She was quiet, cooing over the baby.

He decided to mention what was happening in Seattle. "I, uh… well, Amelia left."

She drew in a sharp breath. "What? Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing. I mean, I don't think I did anything. I just…" He scratched his head, unsure how to breach this topic with her. He flirted playfully, but he didn't know if she perceived the seriousness behind his words. "She knows that I… still have feelings for you."

Cristina was quiet for so long that he thought she might have hung up. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, the opposite of what he expected. "You need to stop with that."

"Stop caring about you?"

She sighed. "I thought you were… I thought you wanted to move on. I thought that was why you were so dead set on me adopting Collin. I thought…"

"I want you to be happy, with or without me," he clarified. It was the most honest thing he had said all night. "But, honestly, I wish it was with me. I can't say that I want you to stay over there. I can't say that I've moved on, because I haven't. If you have, you can… you can just stop taking my calls. I won't hold it against you."

"Shut up," she said, groaning. "You're such an idiot sometimes."

"You're big on the name-calling tonight."

"Well I spent the whole day with a one-year-old. Sue me. And you're being stupid."

"Am I?"

"Duh. Of course I haven't moved on. What am I doing right now? Do you realize that I haven't even called Meredith yet? The first thing I did when that little demon stopped crying was call _you_. I wanted to talk to _you_. You can call me emotionally unhealthy if you want, but I haven't moved on. I don't want to move on. I just want… I want to be like this."

"In separate countries?"

"Maybe not like that." She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "I just want… I want…"

"Spit it out."

"Owen… I want you. I want you all the time." She took a breath. He could hear the tears in her voice. It hurt him to listen. "But I have a home here, and you have a home there. I have this hospital – the best possible thing that could happen in my career – and you're needed in Seattle. Your mom is in Seattle. What kind of people would we be if we just…?"

"Happy people."

She sniffled, only half-joking when she said, "Shut up."

"I could find a job in Switzerland."

"Shut up."

"We could buy a house somewhere nice."

"Owen…"

"We could have that life, Cristina."

"I can't talk about this right now. I just… goodnight."

"Don't hang up," he whispered. He felt like the words were draining out of him. He wanted to convince her that his goals were realistic, that his commitment was real, but nothing logical would come out. He just ended up begging her. It was pathetic. "I love you."

The line went dead.

He listened to the silence for a moment, almost wishing phones still had dial tones. It would make it more final. It just felt wrong to be plunged into this quietness all of the sudden.

When the moment had passed, and he realized how quickly their conversation had escalated – and how harsh the repercussions of it would hit them later – he threw his phone against the wall. She was still holding onto the idea that they had to be apart. He gave her possibilities, and it scared her away. He knew what he wanted, what he needed, and she was still teetering on the fence.

It was a summary of their entire relationship, playing out all over again. He wondered if she would take him up on his offer, if she would stop returning his calls. He wondered if he had finally, irreparably screwed up his life.


	36. I Can Breathe Again

**I Can Breathe Again.**

**July 12, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Cristina slumped over the kitchen table, an entire day of work behind her, and an entire night of parenting ahead of her. She was alone in the house with a seventeen-month-old tornado that was determined not to let a bum leg stop him from destroying everything in his path. He ran around the couch for the thirtieth time, screaming like a banshee, when the commercials came on between his favorite shows. He had something that looked like it had previous been attached to the tub bobbing around in his mouth, and he drug her comforter behind him, bearing it like the flag of victory. He only stopped to gaze at the TV, making sure he wasn't missing any little talking dogs with safety vests on, and then he went on with his screaming.

She was in the middle of a video chat with Meredith, who was having a similar experience with a three-and-a-half-year-old demon of her own. She had a similar posture, too, and an expression that begged for rescue. Sometimes during their calls they just stared at each other like this, sharing their pain, reminding each other that their lives were intersecting again.

"Bailey!" Meredith snapped, sitting up suddenly. Her voice made Cristian stir, and Collin paused in the living room. "Hey! Leave the dog alone! Zola, get your brother!"

She sunk down again, groaning.

Cristina blew out a heavy breath. "So, did you hear about preschool?"

"His birthday is barely in the green zone," Meredith responded groggily. "So, yeah, when August comes he'll be spending three hours every other day sharing germs with about eight other kids. Oh, and Sofia is so excited for kindergarten! You should see her little book bag. When I pick her up I'll send you a picture."

"Are they still thinking about having another one?"

Meredith smiled. "Well, for once Callie is against it, and Arizona is for it. So I'm not sure. If they do, I hope it's a boy. Bailey needs somebody to play with – someone who won't put makeup on him and make him sit in the prison-laundry-basket."

Cristina stretched her arms out in front of her, enjoying the way her muscles felt when they unlocked for the evening. She yawned. "You said you had something to tell me."

Suddenly her friend had an innocent expression on. "Did I? I don't know what it was."

"Right. Spill it. Now."

Meredith grinned like a guilty little kid. "I got some interesting news today. I didn't want to bother you at work. Derek doesn't even know yet."

"Are you about to say what I think you're about to say?"

"I'm pregnant!"

Cristina could not contain her smile, despite her own misgivings about children at the moment. She squealed like a teenager, and Collin stopped to make sure the house wasn't on fire. She waved him off, grabbing her phone from the counter and holding it a bit closer to her face. "Congratulations! For how long? What did the doctors say?"

"Well, my age is obviously a concern, but apart from that she expects me to have a normal pregnancy. They ran a full genetic panel – should be in by next week – and the chromosomal check came back with double X's."

"Derek is about to be outnumbered in your house."

"Girls rule the world," Meredith said. Her excitement was palpable.

Cristina spent a few minutes smiling back and forth with her friend, wondering about the baby, curious about how Derek would react, gathering up tips to handle Collin, and then she asked the question that had been bouncing between them for weeks.

"Is Derek still considering that job in D.C.?"

Meredith frowned slightly, her happiness caught under a shadow. "We've been talking about it, but every time I bring it up, it turns into a fight. I'm so sick of that stupid job offer."

"It's a big move."

"Yeah! It's literally across the country. I mean, we have three kids to think about now. Zola will have to move in the middle of kindergarten – you know how hard it is for her to make new friends. We would lose our babysitting network. She would never get to see Sofia."

Cristina was nodding. She had come to Switzerland to progress her career, but she was on the side of family when it came to Meredith and Derek. Family was their strongest quality. It was the thing that had pulled them together over the years. What was best for Cristina was not best for them. She wanted Meredith to be happy, and uprooting her children would bring her down.

"Oh, there was something else," Meredith said suddenly, catching Cristina in a weird train of thoughts. She took the camera through a few rooms and flopped down on her bed. "I saw Owen today. He looked really upset. Did you guys ever talk?"

"Since he asked me to start a fairytale life with him? No." She could remember that conversation like it had happened five minutes ago. Owen, going on about how great they could be together, trying to forget everything that had driven them apart. "He thinks we can just… be together. He thinks we can both drop everything and make it work somehow."

"Stupid prince charming," Meredith responded.

Cristina snorted. "Yeah."

"Probably thinks he can just fly out there and scoop you up in his arms."

"Probably."

"He probably thinks he can just knock on your door and kiss you, and all will be forgiven."

"He probably does."

"What a jerk."

"Exactly."

There was a knock on her door. She glanced up, skin prickling at the possibility, and she found Meredith grinning at her on the screen.

"What did you do?" Cristina demanded.

"What a best friend is supposed to do," Meredith responded simply. "Goodnight. Call me in the morning, if we're still on speaking terms." She cut the video off.

Cristina seethed, dropping her phone on the counter. The knock came again. Collin came into the kitchen and asked to be held, looking uncertainly at the door. They didn't generally have visitors. She took a deep breath and approached it, scraping her disorderly work hair back with one hand.

When she opened the door, her heart did a little jump. He was standing there in a thick brown jacket, his hair a little fluffier than the last time they had met, his eyes sparkling like he wasn't completely out of his mind. He had a bouquet of vibrant red roses in one hand, and a gift in the other, carefully wrapped with alphabet paper. He was just as handsome as the first day they had met, just as ruggedly built, and just as gentle in his disposition. It was the image she dreamt about when the nights were too long, and the days too hectic. And here she was, still wearing wrinkled blue scrubs, her hair falling out of a bun, her kid wearing only a diaper with half a fudge sickle on his face. She must have looked like the crazy one.

"I thought we could talk," Owen said, pulling her screen door open and stepping inside. She took a step away, allowing him in, and continued to marvel at him. He smiled, pushing the door shut behind him. "Meredith said you might have a minute."

She searched for the words. "H-How…?"

"I took a few days off, short notice," he told her, putting the roses under his arm and pulling out the present. He looked at Collin. "You wanna see what I got you?"

"He doesn't like strangers," Cristina advised, sighing when Collin struggled down her side and snatched the box from Owen. He plopped down on the floor and started tearing into it. "You little whore," she muttered. "I thought we had something special."

Owen stepped around the baby, coming unapologetically into her bubble. She flashed back to the first time they met, and she was frozen to the spot, staring at him, captured in his eyes again.

"I did some thinking," he whispered, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear over the furious beating of her heart. "My life is already full of disappointments, of failures, of pains that I could have, and should have, avoided. I survived a war, Cristina, and so much since then. I went through a whole saga with you, and I hated it, and I loved it. But I don't think it has to be over. I don't think we end like that. I think it just keeps going."

She felt the magnetism reawakening between them. It had been present at the Christmas party, on the back deck on that cold, quiet night. It had been present in the hospital while she was holding Collin, when she thought her life might be falling apart.

It was there now, in the affection his eyes showed, in the tender way he touched her arm, in the hum of his voice as it reached her ears.

He took her face in both hands and pressed his lips gently to hers. It was not without the passion that had marked the earlier years of their relationship, but that passion was bottled. Owen was holding onto it. It was clear in his eyes as he pulled away. He wanted to take more than a sweet kiss. He wanted to take her, all of her, but he was cautious of her reaction.

She was at a loss for a few moments, just staring at him, just waiting for her mind to come to terms with what was happening. She put her hands over his, running her fingers over his rough knuckles, recalling how it felt when his those same hands pinched her hips. It had been so long since he had dared hold her this way, since a kiss between them had produced so many sparks. It made her want to giggle like a child, but all she could do was grin. She smiled like she was seeing the sunshine after a long, long night. She smiled like she was coming home, like the world finally made sense after years of strange happenings. She smiled like they had never been separated, like he had been here with her all along, in not only her thoughts, but in her heart.

And she cried. She sunk into his arms like a baby, burying her face in his neck, holding onto him with the distinct fear that he would vanish. Whatever strength she had been growing in the years since she left Seattle shattered and fell away all around her. She didn't need it anymore.

Owen was still smiling, stroking her hair, hugging her tightly. Comfort was his specialty. He was a big ginger teddy bear. "So does that mean you agree with me?" he murmured in her ear.

She nodded into his shoulder.

"I have something else to ask you, then."

She reeled in her sobs, realizing she was breaking down. She probably sounded awful. Collin was giving her the weirdest look from the floor. She ran her hand over her face, still pressed wholly against Owen, and looked into his neck. "What?" she asked.

He pulled her away, holding her head in his hands once more. His eyes were alive with elation. "Cristina Yang, will you marry me, again?"

"What will everybody think?"

"Honestly," he responded, kissing her forehead. "I don't care."

XxX

It was the middle of the night, several hours past her usual bedtime. She had to work in the morning, but she genuinely didn't care. Collin had been asleep since nine, having played his heart out with the baby guitar Owen had brought for him. She had turned his fan on and pointed it away from him so the white noise would obscure what the adults were doing in the other room.

She could have fallen asleep a long time ago, but she kept herself up, desperate to hold onto this day for a little bit longer. For the first time in a long time, she was curled up against Owen, his hand draped across her back, her head resting on his shoulder. She was breathing his scent, staring at his peaceful face, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. She had dreamt of him joining her in this bed since she had bought it, and to have him here now seemed like another dream. It was a cruel, cruel joke her mind was playing on her. It had to be.

"Stop doing that," Owen murmured beside her.

She smiled, running her thumb over his jaw. "Doing what?"

"You're freaking out."

She twisted her lips. "I'm not…"

"You are."

"Am not."

"Cristina, I know you."

She rolled over, snuggling further into his side. She hooked her leg over his, desiring that their skin touched anywhere and everywhere that it could. "I just… I keep waiting to wake up."

He hummed deep in his throat.

"Stuff like this doesn't happen in real life," she went on. "Hot guys don't just show up at your door and ask you to remarry them."

"Well, I took a plane from Seattle that stopped off in Miami and Berlin, so, trust me, I didn't just show up. There was a lot of in-between involved."

"You and Meredith conspired. I'm not sure I like that."

"Do you like the outcome?"

She smiled again, thinking of how wonderful the last few hours with him had been. "Duh. I just… this is just… we can't just… I can't believe I just…"

"See? You're freaking out."

"I agreed to _marry_ you," she pointed out. "I deserve to freak out."

He shifted around, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, and then her neck. "What do you really think of this? Do you think… do you believe what I said?"

"No. But if you left right now, I think I would actually melt into this bed."

"Your answers are conflicting."

She pulled his head up from between her breasts, unable to help a smile at his adorable expression. She kissed him, running both hands through his hair, enjoying the way he felt. Her words came in direct contrast with her contentment. "We had major problems, Owen."

"I think we overcame those after our divorce. We were together, and we were fine."

"We broke up, in case you forgot."

"We got back together."

"And then I left. Are you noticing a theme?"

He smirked. "Face it. We couldn't stay away from each other because we were great together."

"Because we were addicted to each other," she countered. "It hurt for us to be together. You can't tell me that you've forgotten all the awful things we did to each other."

His eyes darkened for a split second. "But I realized something while you were gone. We always came back together. We always found a way back to each other. When you left… it felt like I had been ripped in half, like I was had just back from the desert again. Part of me was missing. Part of me was right here in Zurich."

She was starting to get emotional again, dragged down by his urgent tone. She hugged herself to him, resting her face against his neck, listening to his words as a hum that came from all around.

"We get one chance," Owen said, pressing a few hard kisses to the top of her head. "We get one life each, Cristina, and I choose to spend mine with you. If you want the same thing, marry me. If you don't, I'll leave, and I won't come back."

She took a settling breath. She had not even considered another option the first time he had proposed. It was shortly after the shooting, when her walls were crumbling down, when she was constantly afraid that he was going to be hurt, and that she would lose him. Her mind had not been in the condition to consider such a big question.

But now she saw the possibilities on both sides of the spectrum. She saw the fights, the screaming, the sleepless nights. She saw Collin growing up with two drastically different parents. She saw the same old arguments coming up again and again. She felt the intense loneliness, the betrayal, the awful sensation of being trapped.

And she also saw the beauty in it.

She saw herself waking up beside him every morning, no longer alone with her thoughts. She saw his hand out every time an obstacle seemed to difficult, and every time her arms were too full, and she thought she might drop everything. She saw him with Collin, encouraging him through his rehab, running beside him while he hobbled across the playground. She saw him growing older. She saw him holding open doors and sharing a box of cereal with her even when the two of them had long retired from medicine. She saw the life that he did, if only for a moment, and she wanted it so badly that it actually ached. If only life were so perfect.

Her thoughts led her from a sad frown to a smile, and she leaned up to kiss him. She ended up resting her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was the most beautiful thing about him. It was the sound of his spirit.

"It has to be something small," she whispered. "Just between us."

She felt his mood lift. "Is that another yes?"

"Yes, you idiot," she murmured, sitting her chin up on his chest. She smiled at him, glad for the grin he gave her in response. She ran her hand over his face. "I love you."

He captured her hand, kissing the back of it. "I love you, too."


	37. Full Circle

**Full Circle.**

**August 1, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She pulled her hair into a quick ponytail, taking one last look at the man splayed across her bed before she headed into the living room. Collin was, surprisingly, still wearing the clothes she had put him in about twenty minutes ago. He was sitting in front of the TV munching on a bowl of dry cereal, his eyes clued to the colorful characters he had come to love in the last few weeks. When he saw her coming, he pointed to the door, curious.

"It's time to go see Ms. Dawn," Cristina told him, plucking him up, setting his cereal on the couch, and spinning in a few playful circles. She grabbed his diaper bag from the kitchen table, jumping when her phone starting ringing. She had to drop the bag to answer it. "Hello?"

"Cristina."

Her blood ran a little colder. It was a voice she hadn't heard in a while.

"Phyllis?"

"I need you to… witness."

"What are you talking about? Where are you?"

"I'm in that little hotel near the airport. Flower, or something. I think the name is in German. Room 116, down at the end of the hall, on the right."

Cristina could not believe what she was hearing. "What are you talking about?"

"Please just, just come. If you were ever my friend, come here. I need you."

She sounded groggy, and Cristina had to wonder what the hell was happening. She set the baby down on the couch, rushing back into her room as the line went dead. She shook Owen, throwing the covers off of him. "You need to take Collin to rehab today. I have to go somewhere."

He stirred, still half in a dream. "Huh? What happened?"

"Phyllis called. I think she's drunk somewhere. I'm going to pick her up."

"Child abandonment," he grumbled. "It's a crime here, huh?"

"Forget about that. Please get dressed and take Collin. I'll be back."

"Okay." He was waking up fully now. He sat up, scratching his head. "I have to catch my plane at three. Will you be back, or should I take him over to Dr. Ross'?"

"If I'm not back, call Shane."

She went back into the front room, kissing Collin and giving him a brief, confusing explanation as she left without him. She was on the road before she knew it, navigating the quiet roads with a kind of desperation she had forgotten she possessed. She didn't like the way Phyllis had been talking. She didn't like the things she said. It raised alarms in her head.

She found the room relatively quickly. The front door was unlocked. She heard water running down the hall and she headed toward it.

She stepped toward the bathroom, the first door on the right, and froze in the doorway. Her eyes hit Phyllis immediately. She was beside the tub, sobbing, staring at Cristina. She had been sitting there all day. Her lower legs had lost their color because she'd been squashing them for hours. She didn't seem to notice. Her arm had several false starts on it – knife cuts, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to hurt. As Cristina had come in, she'd placed the knife at the base of her wrist, prepared to drag it straight up her arm to her elbow. She would sever the majority of veins and arteries in her forearm, and death would unpreventable.

Cristina put her hands up, shaking her head. She had an ominous sense of calm settling over her, like she sensed the inevitability of it, but she wasn't willing to accept it. Her voice was low and it trembled as it left her lips. "Don't… Phyllis… don't do this."

Phyllis gasped out a cry, tears pouring down her face. "I should have died in that sinkhole." She looked at the floor, and then back at Cristina. "God is _punishing_ me. I was never supposed to have kids… Collin… Collin was my punishment. I can't take it."

"You're suffering a psychotic break," Cristina reasoned, unconsciously scanning the room. In the back of her mind she was trying to prevent it, trying desperately to be the hero and lunge at her friend, but somehow she knew – she just _knew_ – that this was going to happen. "Whatever you're feeling right now, whatever you _think_ is happening, it's not real. Just listen to me. Listen to my voice. You trust me, don't you? Phyllis, it's me. It's Cristina. _Listen_ to me."

"I can't," Phyllis sobbed. Ribbons of blood began rolling down her arm. She was pressing the knife into her flesh. "Collin… was my punishment."

"Collin is fine, he's _fine_. He's alive, he's _happy_."

"He is _broken_!" the woman snapped.

She could have said something – anything – but it wouldn't come out of her mouth. She felt the words balling up in her throat. Phyllis dragged the knife down her arm, turning the ribbons into a river, and the light drained out of the room. Before she made it all the way to her elbow, she dropped the knife and began to convulse on the floor.

Cristina hit her knees, tapping into that selfish human need to have a kindred spirit, that selfish desire to avoid blame, to escape guilt. She felt a flash of emotion, a potent mixture of terror and despair, as she ripped a towel from the rack and wrapped it around the wound. She squeezed, even though she had over a decade of experience telling her that it was a hopeless effort.

Phyllis stopped moving only thirty seconds after the cut was made. Cristina slumped down to her bottom, hot blood soaking into her clothes, darkening her jeans, and dripping from her face. It was the spray of clenched veins, the spray of a sudden seizure to accompany a violent suicide. She fell backward into the wall, gasping for air apart from the thick copper taste of death. She stared at the corpse and thought about the kid sitting in her living room.

It all came down to this.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, smearing it with blood as she dialed. She felt numb, but the numbers came out, and despite how dark the words were – the ones she droned to the operator, the ones she kept repeating when they asked for specifics – she didn't stutter. Her mouth was working in the absence of her mind. She was almost grateful.

She stayed where she was until she heard sirens outside. She started to rise as the door burst open, and the paramedics beheld the scene. One of them yanked her to her feet, asking urgent questions, guiding her to the couch, while the other crouched down and confirmed death, a grim look on his young face. It was, perhaps, the first time he had seen this particular mutilation.

Cristina sat quietly, accepting the towels they offered her to clean off her face and arms. Some cops came and encircled her, very curious about the fate of the woman on the bathroom floor, and she gave them Owen's number.

She sat there, keeping to herself, until Owen arrived to take her home. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, taking a steadying breath, before he came over to the couch and took her hand. He pulled her gently to her feet, putting an arm around her despite her bloody clothes. He said something sweet, and something about Collin, but she wasn't listening. She was fixated with the gurney rolling out of the house, and the dead body jiggling around on top of it.

"Hey, look at me," Owen insisted, stepping between Cristina and the body. He held onto her face, forcing her to focus. "She was lost before you got here. She had a rough life. There was nothing you could have done… there was nothing you could have said to make it better for her."

Cristina nodded. "I-I know that. I know that."

"Let's get you home," he murmured.

"What about Collin?" she asked, just now realizing he had mentioned her son.

He kept coaxing her to the car. "I called Dr. Ross – er, Shane – and he went to watch over him. Collin is fine. Come on, we don't need to stay here."

XxX

Cristina stayed in the shower for longer than she should have. She was stuck with the residual force of blood spraying on her face. She hated the feeling. She hated the person who had given her this memory. She hated how she had frozen in place.

Hours later, when she had long since sunk to the bottom of the tub, Owen appeared to carry her to her bed. It was another memory of hers – finding Owen in her shower years ago, listening to a dark story about a man with holes in his body, guiding him to her bed so he could feel safe again. The situation was reversed now, and it was much sadder this time around. They had come so far, and yet they were still standing in the same place.

Shane dropped the baby off in the afternoon, coming by her room to exchange sad looks about the woman they had both known since moving here. He sat by her side for a while, loyal despite it all. He had found his own place when Owen had started coming on the weekends and the bitterness he experienced because of their reconciliation had worried her, but he was here now. It was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry you lost her like that," Shane said quietly, taking her hand. He leaned his head on her bed like a small child, staring at her intently. "I'm sorry."

She sighed, turning on her side to stare back at him. "I love you. You know that, right? If you ever needed to say anything to me, you could just call."

He nodded solemnly.

"She thought Collin was broken," Cristina went on. She could hear Owen entertaining her son in the living room. His hysterical giggling broke the sad haze that had settled over her. "He is not broken," she growled, her voice a little shaky. "He is… he is mean sometimes, and he takes all of my food, and he cries with absolutely no provocation, and he is insanely picky about how you play with him… but he's perfect. He's perfect. He's mine, and he's perfect."

"I think he was yours when he was born," Shane responded softly.

She took a breath. Her heart agreed with that. Her head was swimming in every direction.

"I have to go," he whispered, taking her hands in his and kissing them. "I'm supposed to be working right now."

He had the opposite shift from hers, now more like her shadow self than her resident. She let him go, lying alone in the darkness for a little while before she was joined by Owen. She had listened as he talked to Collin, as he laid the little boy down to sleep and hummed him a lullaby. When he came in he was smiling, but it turned into a quiet frown as he came to lay behind her. He put both arms around her torso, pulling her into his chest and kissing her cheek.

She was silent for a long time, wondering what she could say to qualify what she had seen. She had witnessed some dark things since becoming a doctor, and dark things before that, but she had never seen someone take their own life. It was stunning to watch all that blood pour out, more than any surgery mistake, more than anything that had rolled into their hospital.

She settled on the idea of it, and turned toward Owen, her lip trembling as the memory came full circle to her mind. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his skin, breathing him in. "I saw her die," she whimpered.

He ran his hand up and down her back. "I know."

"Why did she make me see that?"

"I don't know."

She clung to him, shutting her eyes as hard as she could to try and keep the tears from falling. "Owen… I want to forget it. I don't want to see it anymore."

"I'm sorry." He pulled away briefly to kiss her face. "What can I do?"

"Just… just stay with me. Just don't leave me, please."

"I would never leave you."

"Good. Don't."

"Hey," he said, drawing away a little to look at her eyes. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks until she looked at him. "Hey, I finally got you back. I'm not going anywhere. I'm never going anywhere. I don't care if you set me on fire, Cristina. I'm staying with you."

She sniffled, balling her arms up to his chest. She liked how warm he made her. "You're crossing into stalker territory," she taunted.

He smiled. It was the perfect expression. "I accept that."

She felt something stir in the pit of her stomach and she shoved away from him, sprinting for the nearest bathroom. She threw up, releasing her anxiety about that morning. She felt dreadful all of the sudden, like the sickness had waited to torture her until she was almost okay with what had happened. It had to remind her that she had seen her former friend die. She had seen the mother of her child die. She had been there to watch the light leave her eyes.

Owen appeared behind her, holding her hair back, as was customary for the two of them. When she was running on empty, she slumped back and he caught her, sinking into the tub and holding her against his chest. She felt clammy, and his hands were cool on her cheeks.

"I wish I could take it away," he whispered, his lips pressed to her head. He stroked her hair back, occasionally stopping to make sure she was still awake. "I wish I could be more useful."

"Just stay there," she said, twisting around to put her arms around his neck again. She rested against him. "You're doing everything right now, just by being here."

"I love you," he murmured.

"Even when I'm pukey?"

"Even when you're pukey."


	38. Home

**A/N: Hey, guys! Though my interest in this story dwindled in the last few months, I'm sure you've noticed that I have fallen in love with it again. Most of the time I was absent from this, I was stressing out about college and trying not to waste time writing, but that made me realize that when I write, it actually makes me happier. Writing is my passion. I hope you like this series of chapters airing tonight, and I hope that, if you enjoy my writing – and if you're a fan of the X-files – you'll check out my only other story, which picks up after the ninth season of X-files ends. (yes, I am shamelessly plugging my other book). Anyway, I really love reading reviews from you guys, and I hope you like the chapter that follows.**

**Home.**

**August 15, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Owen woke up with sunlight pouring over his back. He was a few hours ahead of his alarm, so he laid in silence for a while, just enjoying the sensation of the sun and the way the sheets felt on his skin. He knew his lover was gone for the day – she was the queen of cardio at her own hospital in the city, and it was her week to work the day shifts – but he was not alone in the house. He was sharing the bed with a baby boy, who was splayed across Cristina's side of the bed wearing only a damp diaper. He was a sound sleeper, despite causing his new mother a lot of trouble when he was first adopted. It took a marching band to wake the kid up now.

When he finally decided to get up, he did so as quietly as possible, slipping into the kitchen soundlessly. Collin had a habit of sensing when Owen was up and then immediately demanding all of his attention. It was ridiculous. Cristina thought it was hilarious.

He mulled around in the house for a little while, cleaning up the Sunday night disaster area formerly known as the living room and scrubbing the dishes he had used to cook baked spaghetti. It still smelled like garlic. He took a shower, doing his best to get the smell of the park off of him. Collin went nuts every time he saw a duck, so they had to take him to the park on Sunday mornings and let him chase the poor creatures. It was only his crippled leg that spared the birds. Owen had no intention of going home smelling like a zoo.

By the time he finished his morning routine, Collin was stirring. He made a little cooing noise, calling for whoever was in the house, and when Owen peeked around the corner at him, he grinned and hid his face in the covers. Owen crouched nearby.

"Good morning," he said, unable to help his own grin. He turned into a doofus whenever he was with the baby. Cristina claimed it was embarrassing, but he knew that she was pleased with it. She was always more snuggly when Collin was around. He gave her his baby vibes, and she reacted incredibly to it. Motherhood was working for her. It was really brightening her days.

Collin stretched out, flinching a little and rolling across the bed. Owen plucked him out of the covers and kissed his belly, making him giggle. His leg looked a little stiff, but their next stop was the rehabilitation center, so he didn't let himself get too concerned.

He took the baby into the kitchen, poured him a bowl of his favorite cereal, and let him sit on the counter while he ate it. He ran a tiny brush through the kid's curly blonde hair, using a washcloth to dab some of the crud away from his eyes and nose. He changed him, bathed him, and got him dressed, all the while provoking as much laughter as he could. Collin was the happiest kid he had ever met – when he told Cristina that she was the real light in his life, the real reason he had become the child that he was, she always denied it, but Owen knew the truth. Somehow the two of them had saved each other. She could have been crushed under a piano during the workday, but when she came home to Collin, it all faded away.

"It's time to go see Ms. Dawn," he said, bouncing the kid around when he pulled him from his favorite show. He only got a moment of protest before Collin was distracted by the bouncing. He grabbed the diaper bag from the table and swept out the door, appreciating the heat they walked into. He had imagined Switzerland as a cold wasteland, but the weather was mild this time of year. It was almost perfect, if only it didn't ran spontaneously.

His drive was short, but interesting. He talked baby with Collin on the way, having no idea what he might be saying, but gathering huge support from the kid in the car seat. He imagine it was something to do with politics, and the purpose of life.

Dawn was waiting for him when he arrived. She always sat out on the bench in front of the center when she was free, and Collin was the only kid she saw on Monday mornings, so he always got the best greeting. She hadn't been working long enough that day to be irritated, and Collin was so sweet that she – and many others inside – were in love with him anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Hunt," Dawn said as he got out of the car. He took Collin out of his car seat and she grinned, coming over to take him. "And good morning to you, sweetheart."

Collin squealed, delighted by his new company.

"Do you have to run off?" Dawn wondered, glancing at the doors. "You can stay and watch him for a while, if you want. I heard he was taking your last name."

"We were thinking about it," Owen corrected. "And no, I have a flight to catch. I have to be back in Seattle for my shift tonight. But thank you for offering. Cristina will be here to pick him up at eight. Oh, and she wanted me to tell you that he took a few normal steps last night. Stood straight up like a little champion."

Dawn smiled, bouncing the baby in her arms. "Say bye-bye to daddy, Collin."

Owen was about to correct her again, but Collin did a little wave with his fingers and said, "Bye-bye daddy," in his sweet little voice. It melted his heart.

"I'll see you next Monday," Dawn said, carrying the boy inside.

Owen stood there for a little while, stunned by what the kid had said. He could have dissolved right there in that parking lot. Usually Collin only talked about food, using short, commanding phrases, like 'cookie mine.' Cristina would be so pissed that she hadn't been here to hear this. He had to get him to repeat it later, to make sure she knew he was capable of it.

He dropped her car off at the hospital and took a taxi to the airport – she always took a taxi to work on Mondays, so he would be able to drop Collin off in her SUV. Collin was very picky about what vehicles he rode in. It was a system that had seemed silly at first, but now it was just natural.

XxX

His trailer was not empty when he got there. Derek was parked in his yard, taking up his space, and he saw the neurosurgeon drinking a beer on his front porch. He looked tired, probably from working the late shift, but he didn't look particularly grumpy. Owen wasn't sure why he was there, but he went to join him anyway, taking a beer from the cooler by his side. He sat on the steps and leaned against the wall.

"Back from Switzerland?" Derek wondered.

"No, I'm still there. You're hallucinating."

Derek smiled. "You've been spending too much time with Cristina. You're starting to catch the sarcasm." He took a sip of his beer. "Amelia is leaving, you know. She said she wants to go to New York. She took a job with a cancer research company."

He didn't know how to feel about Amelia. His relationship with her had been long enough, but he could not, for the life of him, figure out what he had seen in her. It seemed cruel now, to take back the things he had said to become her boyfriend in the first place, but his mind was too focused on Cristina. Everything else was put on hold. He would never say that to Derek. He would never admit that he had lost the spark for Amelia the moment he was been reunited with Cristina. But he suspected Derek already knew. He was smart guy.

So he just sipped his beer and nodded respectfully, keeping his mouth shut.

"I think she'll be fine," Derek said. "I'm surprised she even stayed this long. She moves around a lot. She doesn't really have a place to call home, not yet."

Owen sighed. "I'm not sure that I do, either."

"I was thinking about that, too," Derek said, setting his beer beside him. He looked over at Owen, all of the genuine friendship from before spilling through his eyes. "I think you should live here. I think you and Cristina should invest in a house – not just an apartment, or a rental. I think you should buy a place that your kid can grow up in. Or build one."

"She has a hospital to run."

"From the way Meredith puts it, it seems like that kid is more important to her now. Shane is running it half the time, anyway, isn't he?"

"He's just a kid. He's not ready to take that on."

"She doesn't have to give it to him – not yet." Derek started using his hands, creating a timeline out of thin air. "She just owns it from afar – digitally. When he gets enough experience he can take over, but until then she still makes the big decisions. She's just here, instead of in Zurich."

"I can't ask her to give up her career."

"There are different types of legacies. I think she might be realizing that. Kids are… kids are something special." His eyes shone. "Zola was a handful, but now she's ready to start kindergarten, and she has a world of possibilities in front of her. That's the little girl we adopted, Hunt. Back then I thought… well, we thought our careers meant everything. Now it's just her. Now it's just her and her brother."

"I heard there was going to be another kid on that list."

He smiled at that, laughing a bit. "Yeah. Seven months to go. They say it's another girl, but I'm still holding out for a boy. Science can kiss my ass."

Owen returned the smile, but it faded into a thoughtful frown. His head was buzzing with the possibilities Derek had laid out. "If Cristina really went for that… we could raise Collin here. He could know my mom, and you and Meredith, and Torres and Robbins, and little Sofia. He would be happy here."

"You just have to convince Cristina of that."

"Have you met Cristina?"

Derek laughed. It simmered out, and eventually faded, leaving the two of them in comfortable silence. He drank the rest of his beer, laying his head back against the wall, and then scooting out suddenly to look at the stars. His smile deepened into something more.

"I have a pretty important meeting in the morning."

Owen sat back a little, taking a settling breath. "Cristina told me."

Derek scratched his head. "By noon tomorrow, I'll be holding a video conference with the President of the United States. He's going to ask me to come to D.C. to head up his new healthcare initiative, and, honestly, I'm still not sure what to say."

"Think about it like this," Owen said. "You just pitched the idea of home to me. Maybe the best thing for your isn't out there somewhere, but here. Maybe it's home."

"Okay, we've had enough to drink," Derek chuckled.

"It's the jetlag, makes me emotional."

"I'm gonna go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Right."

He watched the neurosurgeon drive off, amused by his visit. He had only had one beer – it was still sitting on the table, barely empty. Working with the guy was one thing, because he was bossy and used to getting his own way, but being his friend was something different, something better. When Owen thought about putting down roots, he imagined both Meredith and Derek as part of his future. He imagined their kids playing together one day.

He got a text less than fifteen minutes later, with an image of Zola sleeping attached. He smiled, half because he was sure the flash had woken her up, and half because he knew that he was the same way where Collin was involved, despite only knowing the kid for a few weeks.

He wanted to define this place as home, but he could only hope his lover would agree.

XxX

He rushed between hospital beds, checking all of them for the face of the first woman he had seen. She was in the last row, among the other crash victims, still fighting against the nurses who tried to keep her from pulling a shard of glass out of her shredded cheek. He grabbed one of her hands, holding it down, and raised his voice above the chaos of the emergency room. "I need you to calm down! I'm going to take care of you, but I need you to let me do my job!"

She eased up on the struggling, but she still seemed panicked. Her perfectly blue eye was filling up with blood. He pressed her back into the mattress.

"Can I get some help over here?" He started prodding at her stomach, testing her body for other signs of trauma, aside from the obvious. He felt several hard patches in her abdomen. "Grey! We have some internal bleeding over here!"

Within seconds of his call, Meredith rushed to his side, placing her hands where his had been. "Shit," she cursed, ripping back the covers. She glanced around them, catching the first nurse who jogged past. "Find an OR for this patient – we have high priority internal bleeding. She needs to get into surgery right now."

"We need this out," Owen said, motioning to the glass piece. "Avery!"

He stepped back while Jackson did his thing. He waited anxiously beside Meredith, who kept checking her watch. She had a very slight baby bump rising up in her scrubs, making him wonder if she should be experiencing this kind of stress.

When the nurse returned, the bed started moving. Owen took the left side and Meredith took the right. She had a few rough stitches in her face, enough to keep the wound closed for the time being, and Jackson was jogging behind them, prepared to finish the job when the ball stopped rolling. Owen broke away first, scrubbing in as rapidly as he could manage and almost slamming into Meredith as they switched rooms. He got gloves from the nearest nurse and wielded his scalpel, pausing for a split second so Meredith could join him.

The anesthesiologist put a mask on their patient, but she was already very close to being unconscious. She began to drift off, her hand twitching, and then she was completely still.

Meredith had the scalpel poised over her abdomen, with every intention of cutting into her, when both of their pagers started going off madly. She jumped a little, looking bewildered, and then she made the first cut. "Someone check that. Find out what it is."

"I'm seeing some signs of blunt force on the skull," Owen said, moving around the table to get a look at the woman's flimsy head. She was falling apart all over. "We need Shepherd in here." He groaned, realizing Derek was on the way to his interview. "Page Amelia, and if you can't get her, call in Torres. I've got brain matter coming out on the table."

One of the nurses was at the wall, speaking rapidly to someone on the OR phone. Owen looked up just in time to see a horrified expression spread across her face. He stopped to stare at her.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

"What is it?" he demanded. His thoughts went to Cristina immediately. Had something happened to Collin? Was his bright future with her about to end in flames?

But the nurse was not looking at him. Her eyes were fixated on Meredith. "Dr. Grey…"

Meredith glanced up, appearing irritated. "_What_?"

"It's Dr. Shepherd."

Meredith froze. Owen saw the situation deteriorating and stepped up to her side, taking the scalpel from her hand and nudging her out of the way. He started plugging holes, throwing messy stitches over the spurting veins in her abdominal cavity.

"What happened?" Meredith asked. Her voice was painfully calm.

"He was in the other car… the car that the bus hit," the nurse said, blinking rapidly. She didn't seem to know how to say it. She was stuttering horribly. "They're bringing him in now."

"B-B-B-B-But I have a…" Meredith looked at the patient, and then down at her stomach. "I have a patient. I have surgery. I…" Her eyes traveled to Owen, and he saw how glassy they were becoming. She was losing her strength. "Owen?"

"I can handle this," he said, though he wasn't sure that it was true. "Go to him. Go to Derek."

She frowned at him, her eyebrows pulling down in a delicate way, and then she left the OR. She only stopped to throw her bloody gloves and cover in the hazardous materials box in the scrub room. Beyond that, it was just a swinging door.

Owen felt his heart sliding into his stomach. He had just spoken to Derek, seen the stars sparkle in his eyes, listened to him talk about how much he loved his kids, how much he loved his family – and now this? Owen had been running between crash victims for an hour now, dealing with injuries common to flipped busses, but when he thought of how badly the person driving the other vehicle would have been injured, it made him feel sick. It would have been awful. Anyone hit with such force would be reduced to a gory mess.

How could it happen like this?


	39. Cataclysm

**Cataclysm.**

**August 15, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

It hit her hard. She had never thought of such a death, such a cataclysm in her best friend's life, but now that it was real, now that everything was falling apart for Meredith, it hit Cristina _hard_. Her friend said her goodbyes and hung up the phone, her voice as delicate as it had ever been, and Cristina sunk down into the couch. Her plans, her worries, and her responsibilities melted away in the face of this. It was a whole new ballpark. It was a different world.

Collin looked up from his books, too young to understand what she was feeling, but old enough to perceive her spiking emotions. He scrambled up and came over, waiting curiously by her knee. He didn't seem to know what to do, only that he should be there.

She ran her hand over her forehead, gasping when she realized she'd been holding her breath. She looked over at the boy, at his tiny little eyes and his tiny little hands, and she was suddenly grateful that he was there. She picked him up and held him against her chest, stroking his hair down, letting the way he clung to her soothe her soul. It was the best painkiller. It was the best way to come back to Earth. Tears fell down her cheeks and dotted his pajamas.

"We have to leave home for a little while," she said to him, sitting him on her knee and wiping tears away with her arm. "I have a friend who… needs me."

"Sad," Collin said, his little lip trembling.

Cristina nodded. "Yeah. Sad." She stood up, carrying the kid around to the front door. She had to stop herself from hopping on the nearest boat and paddling across the ocean to get to Meredith. She had to stop and think about what she was doing, and how to go about it.

She took Collin into his bedroom and dressed him, grabbing a few of his outfits and then ducking into her own room. She packed a joint suitcase, including several of his toys and other essentials. Collin followed her around, occasionally bringing her something that he wanted to pack, like an action figure or an inflatable book. When she was ready, she double checked everything and carried him to the car, one hand laden with the black travel suitcase. She tossed it into the back, cringing when it broke something, and then strapped Collin into his seat, taking the wheel within thirty minutes of getting the call.

She dialed Shane on the road.

"Derek is dead."

He was quiet for a moment, and then she heard a door close. "What?"

"Derek is dead – he crashed his car and he died. I'm on my way to the airport now. I need you to look after the Institute while I'm gone.

"He's… dead?"

"I need you to focus, Shane," Cristina snapped. "Make sure you get the charts from Dr. Carson, the ones about the defect. Do the post-ops for the Peters' kid and get the imaging done."

"Is Meredith okay? Was anybody in the car with him?"

"No. Meredith is fine. Meredith is… Meredith needs me."

"I can handle things here. Don't even think about the Institute."

She hung up, dialing the next number so rapidly that she got it wrong the first time. She stopped for a moment to breathe, focusing on driving, and then she tried again. She caught Carson in a good mood – his most recent research endeavor was an astonishing success – so he didn't grumble when she asked him to look over Shane's shoulder. The resident she gave her less dire patients to, Deborah Allard, was thrilled to take on more responsibility. She made a dozen promises before Cristina hung up on her. She was almost to the airport.

She got out in a rush, grabbing the bag from the back. She held it in her left hand, and Collin in her right arm, and stalked toward the main entrance.

The next flight to Seattle left in six hours. It broke her heart to hear that. She sat in the main waiting area with Collin in her lap and booked three tickets on her phone. Collin sat quietly in her arms, unsure about this new location, and she tried to keep herself from crying as she sat there.

She got a call after twenty minutes.

"Did you hear? Did she call you?"

"Yeah," Cristina responded, sniffling. She cleared her throat, hoping to take the husk out of her voice. "I… how did it happen? Meredith wouldn't say."

She heard Owen shut a door, much like Shane had, and then he spoke quietly. "We got about a dozen bus crash victims this morning, thought nothing of it until the firefighters managed to pry the second vehicle open. It was his." He sighed. "He died on impact."

Cristina leaned her face into her hand for a moment, reeling in her emotions. Collin was frowning at her, tears in his eyes. "Is she okay? What is she doing?"

"She's sitting with the body."

"Where are her kids?"

"Daycare, still. Torres is going to pick them up later and take them back to her house. Korev is in there with her, but she won't let him touch her. She won't let anyone touch her."

"My flight doesn't board for six more hours, and, to top that off, the flight takes twelve hours." She sunk down into her seat, looking at Collin. He had tears on his cheeks. "We're so screwed. We are so screwed."

"I'll keep an eye on her until you get here. You're bringing Collin?"

"Well I'm not leaving him in Switzerland!"

"Okay, okay. I just wanted to know. I'll get a car seat to put in my car."

She considered hanging up the phone again, tired of having it to her ear. Everything sounded louder all of the sudden. Instead, she lowered the volume and leaned into it, gazing at her son while she spoke. "Owen… Derek is dead."

"I know."

"Meredith is… what about the kids?"

"I know. Listen, we'll talk about this when you get here. I don't want to talk about this on the phone. Just get here, and be safe."

XxX

**August 17, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She had no patience for silence. Her career was built on the quiet moments between chaotic noises. It always shifted from the greatest extreme – equipment announcing the imminent death of a patient – to the least of them – the contemplation, the consideration, the soft sounds of grief. She had not experienced this kind of silence, this kind of sad, forced silence, since she was a child, when the blood in her father's chest finally stopped bubbling. For that, and for some other less dire reasons, she disliked silence. She lived with music, and conversation, and the sound of a one-year-old snoring in her ear. So when it came to this silence, this mournful, captivating silence, every second seemed elongated. Even as she stood there listening to others recall the reasons they had loved and respected their fallen comrade, she wanted to be anywhere else.

It could have had nothing to do with the quiet, though. She had loved him, too. She stared at the picture they had hanging in front of his casket – a picture of his smiling face in the last family photo he had ever taken. It occurred to her that the picture was taken around the same time she fell into that sinkhole. He had been the one to stick with Collin during his recovery. He had been the one to make sure the little boy in her arms woke up from that coma.

He was the one who was sleeping now.

It made her sad, and she hated it. She never thought she could be this sad again. She had left that life behind, and still his death haunted her, because it haunted Meredith. Her friend, though right beside her, was a million miles away. She just stared at the coffin, perhaps trying to figure out how the other half of her life had been ripped away so suddenly.

Owen put his arm around Cristina's shoulders. He must have seen how dark her thoughts had become. He was looking over at Meredith, the same confusion in his eyes.

His mother finished her speech and stepped down from the podium. It was the last of them. The priest said a few words before the ceremony came to an end. Everyone stood up. Cristina handed her sleeping son to Owen and put both arms around Meredith, leading her out of the church to get her away from the people who offered their sympathies.

When they made it into a vacant viewing room, she sat beside Meredith on an uncomfortable couch, keeping her arms around the woman's shoulders. She seemed so much smaller now than when they had met, despite being a pinch pregnant. Perhaps the years of pain had finally begun to weigh on her, or that weight was finally showing. Cristina must have ignored it when she saw her every day. She must have forgotten how heavy the air in Seattle was.

"Say something," Meredith murmured after a little while. She was staring at the wall, her eyes reddened, but she was not crying. She hadn't really cried yet.

Cristina rolled her hands together. "I don't know what to say."

"You always know what to say."

"He was…" she sighed, doing her best not to evoke her own tears. "He was great… Derek was. He, um, he did a lot of good stuff."

Meredith gave her a sad laugh. "That was pathetic."

"I'm not good at this. Mourning."

"Me either."

They looked at each other, and Cristina sensed the turmoil within her friend. What could she say to make this better? Were there even words for this kind of tragedy? "You don't have to worry about Zola and Bailey," Cristina said. "Owen and I will take care of them. I'm sure Callie will help. You just… you just do what you need to do."

"I don't know what I need," Meredith groaned.

"We can work on that. We can… we can try stuff. Alcohol."

Meredith rubbed her hands over her face. "Alcohol. I think we should try that. I need that. Lots of it. No, all of it." She sniffled, laying back in the chair suddenly. She rubbed her stomach with her palm. "Oh, dammit, I'm pregnant."

Her face took on a paler color and she stood up suddenly, both hands over her mouth. Her eyes watered. She made a soft squealing sound, horrified.

"Cristina, I'm pregnant."

"I know," Cristina said, mystified.

Tears poured down her cheeks. "I'm… I'm… I'm _pregnant_! Derek isn't here. Derek is dead! Derek is dead and I'm pregnant!"

"Hey, whoa, easy now," Cristina said, hopping up to pull her into a hug. Meredith was finally starting to cry. It was only just now kicking in. She guided her back to the couch, holding her on her shoulder and wincing each time a sob rocked her body.

She sat there for the longest time, just listening and nodding, trying to keep her friend from falling to pieces with little promises and reassurances. Halfway through their hugging session Meredith had to break away to go vomit, and the sound of it alone made Cristina do the same. They regrouped and slumped across the couch together.

"You must be going soft in Switzerland."

Cristina groaned.

"That doesn't usually bother you."

"My patients only vomit after surgery, and they usually don't do it when I'm around – and I'm not going soft! I just… I just do it randomly now."

"Well that doesn't sound good."

"Tell me about it."

"Go to the doctor – another doctor."

"Screw that. It's just nerves. I don't know when I relaxed last."

"Me either."

She let the silence go on this time, almost glad for it. Her stomach had been rolling up into coils for almost two weeks now – ever since she had served as an unwilling witness for Phyllis. She still saw the bathroom in her head, felt the blood spraying across her face. It was a problem she wanted to forget. She knew the nausea would go away with time.

"You know, Derek really wanted this baby," Meredith said, her voice trailing between sadness and nostalgia. "He was so excited. He kept saying that three was our lucky number."

"Have you been to check the spawn's gender yet?"

"I would have told you."

"I thought you might have forgotten."

Meredith sighed. "I kind of did. I mean, with all that's been going on. With his job offer, and the kid getting ready to start school… I missed my appointments."

"Hmm."

"Derek is dead."

"I know." Cristina glanced at her, trying to figure out what was happening in her mind. She seemed peaceful enough. "He would want you to make sure the spawn was alright, though."

"Stop calling him a spawn," Meredith murmured. Her hand was resting lightly on her stomach. She had a soft, warm smile hiding beneath the surface of her face. "He is a baby… my baby." She looked at Cristina, frowning. "How am I going to take care of three kids on my own? Derek is… Derek was a natural. He was the best dad. He…"

"What?"

Meredith blinked. "I don't even know how I'm talking right now. I should be… I should be crying. My husband is dead. My kids… their father is dead. Half of me is dead."

"It's okay if you want to cry again."

Her eyes watered in response. She looked away. "Cristina, I… I loved him so much. I loved him… so much. How could Derek…? How could he be dead?"

"I… I don't know."

Meredith looked away again, focusing on her stomach. She ran both hands over it, sniffling and stifling her sobs. "I have to… I have to go to the doctor. I have to get an ultrasound… Will you come with me? Are you leaving soon?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Cristina assured her.

"O-O-O-Okay."

"Come on." Cristina rolled off of the couch, dragging her friend up with her. She led her to the door, peeking out to make sure most of the others had gone. Just a few of their friends remained in the chapel, sitting in a close group and talking.

When they came out, all eyes shifted to them for a split second, but they had the good sense to look away before Cristina threw bibles at them. Owen was holding Collin, talking in a quiet hum. He was the only one standing up, seeming a little too fidgety to sit down. She brought Meredith up to them, glancing around to watch her friend's eyes track to her son, and then she put both arms around Meredith's shoulders.

"I want you to meet him, properly," Cristina said, running her hand down the boy's back. He was still snoozing. She looked around at her friends, the faces she had built her life with years ago, and said, "This is my son, Collin."

Meredith smiled first, reaching out for the little boy. Owen transferred him carefully into her arms, and she bounced him around a little, her eyes shutting. Some of her tears soaked into his shirt. "He's gotten so big," she said, her voice wistful. "Hi, little man. Derek would have loved to meet you. He said your brain was something special."

Cristina enjoyed this moment, this fleeting happiness that Meredith was experiencing. She watched her, her own bittersweet emotions building up. She retreated to Owen, glad when he put his arm around her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand up on her own.

It was getting late, after all. And Derek Shepherd was dead.


	40. When I See You Again

**When I See You Again.**

**August 19, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina flipped through a disturbingly graphic pregnancy magazine, grimacing at the list of birth defects it displayed on the last page. Meredith looked up, curious about her expression, and Cristina slipped the book nonchalantly into the trash can. She slid her chair back up to the table, focusing instead on the teeny baby bump poking proudly under a powder blue shirt.

"You need to stop with the donuts," Cristina advised, resting her hand on the bump. "I'm sure half of this is pure fat. Spawn has plenty of insulation."

Meredith slapped her hand away, laughing. "Shut up. You ate the other half of the box."

"Donuts are different in Switzerland."

"You keep saying that, but I'm starting to doubt you."

It had been exactly four days since Derek had died, and two days since they had sat together at his funeral. Life had gone on for the most part, with the exception of the arrangements that had to be made, the constant arguments with the insurance companies, and the strange silence in the Shepherd household. Meredith had cried every night, but during the day she was a stalwart warrior. She lived on relentlessly. It was inspiring and sad in equal parts.

But she was not alone in her struggle. Cristina had not left her side since she had arrived. She had settled Collin into the house and when he wasn't at work, Owen was with them in the guest room. She had handled most of the paperwork, leaving Meredith to enjoy her time with her kids, and think about the new spawn.

It was the same with the rest of their friends. Callie visited nonstop with Sofia, giving Zola a distraction and supplying Meredith with an endless series of sweets. Alex became a fixture on the couch, perhaps using the tragedy as an excuse to avoid his own domestic problems. He kept bringing up surgery for Collin's leg, so Cristina was considering kicking him out. Derek's sisters, a whole bushel of surgeons, only stayed a day after the funeral, but his mother still lingered in the house, spoiling the kids while the women were away.

Before she could taunt Meredith any more, the doctor came in. He had a warm disposition. He was supposed to be the one to deliver Bailey, but the circumstances had changed so abruptly that he never got that call. Now was his second chance.

"I have the blood panel results. I know I told you that we couldn't rely on the earlier tests, but I got the same chromosomal lineup this time, so I can now say for sure that you're having a girl."

Meredith grinned at Cristina. "A girl!"

"But," the doctor said, holding up one finger to emphasize it. "I still want you to take that with a grain of salt. It's still very early, and your age is still a factor."

"I know, the baby might not make it, don't count your chickens," Meredith said. "Can we do the ultrasound now? I want to see her."

"Let me set it up."

While he got the machine running, Meredith locked hands with Cristina, squeezing so hard that Christina thought she might break a few bones.

"What are you afraid of?" Cristina demanded, prying her hand away.

"What if it looks like an alien?"

"Does Bailey look like an alien?"

"No, but-"

"Problem solved. It's normal."

Meredith frowned, taking a deep breath through her nostrils. "Derek… this better not be an alien baby."

"Did you have a dream about alien babies last night?"

"Kind of."

The doctor sprayed the gel over her stomach and started running his wand across it, gazing at the screen. Cristina watched it as well, curious about the appearance of her newest family member. When she saw it clearly for the first time – just a baby-shaped blob against a grainy, black background, her heart did a flip.

Meredith let out a happy gasp. "Oh my god…" she whispered, her eyes watering up. "That's my daughter. That's my baby."

"Not an alien," Cristina assured her.

The doctor was silent. He was staring at the screen, looking unsure. "Hmm." He swept the wand to the other side of her belly, giving a completely different perspective on the womb. "I see… two heads…"

"My baby has two heads?" Meredith demanded.

"No, no, not at all," the doctor intervened, putting a steadying hand over hers. "It looks like you're having twins, Dr. Grey."

It was hard to measure her reaction, mostly because of the massive amount of emoting she had done over the last few days. Meredith looked stoic at first, taking in those words, considering them, and then she looked sad, perhaps imagining how ecstatic her husband would be at this news. Finally she settled on a cautious optimism, a hesitant, brave smile.

"Twins," she repeated, glancing at Cristina. She took a deep breath. "I'm having twins. Two babies. Two… at the same time."

"Double babies," Cristina agreed, uncertain.

Meredith glanced up, releasing her breath, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "Derek would be so happy. Two little babies. Two little girls."

"I'm not sure they're both girls," the doctor cut in.

"Either way," Meredith said, her eyes on the screen now. "Either way, I'm… I think I'm happy. I think that… I'm just… kind of terrified." She gave a hysterical little laugh, grabbing Cristina's hand. "Let me up, I have to vomit."

XxX

It was a little past midnight, or she assumed it was, because she could hear someone stirring inside the house. She was curled up on her side, facing the middle of the bed, where Collin was sleeping upside down with both feet on the pillows. He was not one for social conventions. For hours she had been thinking about the news her friend had received, and the prospect exhausted her, even though she wasn't the one who was about to blow up like she swallowed a watermelon – or several watermelons. Meredith had lost everything, and now she would lose her sanity.

Owen came in quietly, kicking his shoes off in the corner. When he saw that she was awake, he slid in behind her instead of on the opposite side, wrapping his arms around her torso and pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. He smelled like a fresh shower.

"Did you get my message?" Cristina whispered.

He nodded into her hair.

"What do you think?"

"I think she's going to have her hands full."

"It sucks," Cristina responded, reaching out to run her hand over Collin's belly when he frowned in his sleep. "Derek died, and now she has to raise four kids on her own? Zola is only five, and Bailey is three – they're not old enough to help her."

"We'll help her, then."

"I'll just row my little boat over the ocean to do carpools," Cristina grumbled.

"Or you could move here, and live with me."

"Yeah, Owen, I want to cram Collin into your trailer."

"I meant that we could buy a house somewhere in town."

She twisted a little, making sure he was using his serious face. "Are you on drugs?"

"It's not so farfetched."

"Uh, yeah, it is. How many times have we had this conversation? I'm not staying in Switzerland to spite you, Owen. I have a hospital to run. I have a _hospital_. I have patients who rely on me for their survival – and John, I have to finish designing my surgery for John."

"You don't have to stay right away," he murmured. "You could stagger it, until they could function without you. You could see your patients here instead of in Europe."

"Owen…"

"Just listen to me. I'm trying to give you a solution to your dilemma. You want to help Meredith, you want to make sure she doesn't suffer, that her kids are safe, that _your_ kid is safe – stay here with me. Be here for Meredith. Bring your trial here instead of there."

"And do what with my billion-dollar hospital?"

"Run it distantly. You said it yourself, it's like a well-oiled machine. You said you felt like an employee there most days anyway."

"It's just not… possible."

"Stop saying that, and think about it. Really think about it."

She took his advice, and the images that came to mind were pleasant. She saw a home with a big backyard where Collin could hobble around to his heart's content. She saw Zola and Bailey and twin girls sprinting about in the grass. She saw family cookouts and parties and long nights by the fireplace. She saw herself growing older, moving on to teaching, or research. She saw a future littered with possibility, even though she knew things could go horribly, horribly wrong.

She could not see the darkness. For the first time in a long time, she was unable to see the pitfalls. She felt that she was walking daringly onto smooth ice, confident that the earth would not open up beneath her feet and swallow her.

"I'll have to consult the Institute's lawyers."

"Right," he said.

"And it might take a few weeks to get the ball rolling. I have surgeries scheduled."

"Yeah."

"I can transfer John – his condition is horrible, but not critical."

"Sounds good."

"His parents are just throwing money around. I can probably convince them to invest in some equipment at Grey-Sloan, so I can perform his surgery."

"That would be excellent."

"Stop… agreeing with me. It's weirding me out."

"Sorry."

She turned around completely, snuggling into his chest.

"You know, I was talking to Derek the other night," Owen said, stroking her hair down. His voice was wistful. "It was the night before he died. He was telling me that I should convince you to move here, to make a home for us, and for Collin."

She breathed deeply. "I hope he was right."

"He was. I can feel it."

XxX

She woke up the middle of the night and staggered to the bathroom, barely making it in time. When she finally sat back, her insides aching, she found Meredith sitting nearby, awakened by the sound. They stared at each other.

"I'm pregnant, what's your excuse?" Meredith said.

Cristina slumped against the wall, groaning. She ran both hands over her stomach. She was going to say something sarcastic, but the sickness took her again, and she had to wait several minutes before she could speak. She ended up lying on the floor, moaning like she was dying, with her friend crawling over to her side.

She was right there, her mind on a few different things, when the idea hit her for the first time.

"Oh, crap, Mer."

"What?" Meredith sat up on her knees, wetting a washcloth and draping it over Cristina's forehead. She sat against the tub, hovering nearby, looking worried. "What is it?"

Cristina started counting back. When had Owen come to her apartment in Zurich? It was that first night, when he had literally swept her off her feet. It had to be that night.

"Cristina?"

She cleared her throat, letting the idea settle on her. "I… Do you have a pregnancy test?"

Meredith frowned, opening one of the bathroom drawers. She handed Cristina a small box. "I bought an extra one, before I got the bloodwork done… Cristina… do you really think…?"

"God, I hope not," Cristina said, hastily unwrapping the plastic.

It seemed like hours passed as they stared at the little stick. It hovered over the sink, taking its sweet time to give them a reading. Her stomach was twisting up for different reasons now. She was anxious and afraid.

"What are you going to do?" Meredith whispered.

Cristina slapped her arm. "Shh. It's thinking."

"Okay, geez."

Finally a little plus sign appeared in the device. It was positive. It was as clear as day.

"What am I going to do?" Cristina said, sinking down into a crouch. She stared at it, wishing it would change back to a minus sign. "Mer, what the hell am I going to do?"

"Stop being so damn fertile," Meredith responded.

Cristina looked up at her, flabbergasted, and then looked back at the stick. "I need you to pick up that magazine and beat me until I'm unconscious."

"Think about it like this," Meredith said, using her hostage negotiator voice. She guided Cristina to the edge of the tub and they both sat down. "Hey, listen. Think about it like this: You already have Collin. You know you're good at this. He's still alive."

"I've had Collin for like a month!"

"Yeah, but, still-"

"No, no buts." Cristina leaned over her knees, putting her head in her hands. Everything was spinning out of control all of the sudden. "Oh, god. Oh, crap."

"Stop panicking! It's bad for the baby!"

"Shut up!" Cristina snapped.

"No, you don't get to panic," Meredith said, forcing her to sit up. She had her serious face on. "I just lost my husband, and I'm having twins – I already have two kids. You have no room to panic. Just take a damn breath and accept it."

"But I can't-"

"You _can_," Meredith interrupted. "You can, and you will, and I'll be there for you, and Owen will be there for you."

"But I don't want-"

"I've seen you with Collin," Meredith said, cutting her off once more. Her voice was low and urgent. "I've seen how much he means to you. He makes you happy. You made the decision to be a mother when you adopted him, and you're happy. You both are."

Cristina stood and leaned against the wall, aware that her friend was not going to let her escape the bathroom. She had too much on her mind – she just wanted to run away. Meredith must have sensed it. She groaned instead, sliding back down to the floor. "This can't be happening again."

Meredith was frowning. "Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking."

Cristina looked up. She was thinking exactly what Meredith hoped she wasn't thinking.

Her friend's frown deepened. "Cristina…"

"I need some air," Cristina said, pushing past her to exit the bathroom. The moment she opened the door, she saw a little shape in the guest room doorway. Her train of thought stuttered to a halt.

Meredith came out behind her, looking like she wanted to argue, but freezing in a similar fashion.

"Collin, come here, buddy," Cristina said, holding out her arms for him. She scooped him up, smiling reflexively when he snuggled into her arms. He was so warm, and so tiny. It felt natural to hold him like this. He made a soft whining sound and she kissed his head, rocking him gently from side to side. "It's okay. It's okay, little man."

"I keep thinking that Derek will walk out of our bedroom," Meredith whispered, her tone softening. She had a hand on Cristina's shoulders. "He never does, but when I think about raising my kids without him, I'm not sad anymore. I just think… I'll tell him about them when I see him again."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to think about it, before you make any kind of decision. When I come home I have two of my best friends waiting for me, craving my attention, needing my help, every single day. I lost so much, and they're my constant. Collin is like that for you."

Cristina carried her son into the living room, rubbing his back while she walked. She was followed by her friend, who continued with the sad face. She knew that Cristina was heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Meredith asked quietly.

"I'm not sure. Somewhere… someplace where I can think. I just need… to breathe."

"What should I tell Owen?"

"Everything, or nothing. Whatever you want."

"Will you be back?"

Cristina swallowed, pulling her diaper bag over her shoulder. She had no idea where she was headed, or how long it would take to figure out what she was going to do next. She didn't want to come back. When she was honest with herself, she met the scary truth. She wanted to run as far as she could, just like she did when she was a little kid. She wanted to escape, and never look back.

"Just… don't wait up for me, Mer."


	41. Family

**Family.**

**August 20, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina laid across the couch, watching Callie chase a tiny girl around the living room. Sofia was determined to wear nothing but her underwear on the first day of school, and Callie was determined to show that she was the tough parent in this situation, and not the one hanging back and giggling at all the antics. It was all made more amusing by the prosthetic leg lying across the floor – Sofia was using it as a hurdle, and Callie was one step away from tripping over it.

"Can anybody grab the kid for me?" Callie demanded, making a twentieth round and then giving up. She leaned over her knees, glaring at the little girl on the opposite end of the couch.

Arizona massaged her stump – the only thing left after her leg was amputated – and went on smiling, withholding her giggles for a moment. "I thought you said you could handle this. Actually, you were adamant that you would do this alone. I'm just observing like a good little wife."

"You're a monster," Callie responded, breathless.

Collin cheered, bouncing up and down. He was sitting square on Cristina's stomach wearing nothing but his own diaper, enjoying the entertainment for the morning. Sofia took his happiness as a good sign and fled for her room, slamming the door shut.

"Get back here, you little gremlin!" Callie growled.

"He is just too much," Arizona said, reaching out for Collin again. He had only met her a few hours ago, when the stunned parents had awakened to Cristina sleeping on their couch, but he was already in love with her. He went willingly into her arms, squealing. Arizona kissed his forehead, holding him up in the air, grinning at him. "You are just so precious!"

Cristina took the chance to roll on her side, rubbing her back. She felt sore all over from having his cute little butt sleeping on her all night.

"Poor little thing," Arizona commented, glancing at his leg. It always curled up a little when someone was holding him. He had a vicious scar going from his disfigured knee to the top of his thigh. It looked a lot worse than it was, but it always got attention from strangers. "Did Alex mention that surgery? I think it might benefit him."

Cristina stretched out. "When he's older, maybe."

"That's okay. I think you might have a better chance of a full recovery if we wait until you're at least five," Arizona said, devolving into a baby voice as she bounced Collin around. "What do you think, huh? What do you think?"

Callie stood up, taking the short walk to her daughter's door and banging on it. "Come on. Meredith is coming over with Zola. If you're not dressed, I won't let you play with her."

"Meredith is coming?" Cristina glanced up.

"We're all going together," Callie explained. "Why? Did something happen last night?"

"Uh, no. No. I just didn't know."

She watched the little family get ready, and winced when the doorbell rang. Collin looked at her, probably expecting Owen to be there. Nobody else rang doorbells. Owen was the weird one.

When Meredith came in, she set her son down and put her hands on her hips, staring at Cristina. "So, all that drama last night, and this is where you went?"

Cristina shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

"You had me worried sick!"

"Sorry."

"I called you at least fifty times!"

"I told you not to wait up for me."

"Cristina Yang, I could murder you. I might actually murder you. Someone stop me."

Callie and Arizona cleared their throats in unison. It was Callie who stepped between them, though she seemed more amused than protective at the moment. "Come on, you know we live and breathe drama. Just put the serial killer face away so we can get the kids to school."

"You better be glad I have somewhere to be," Meredith growled, pointing a threatening finger at Cristina. "You and I are going to have a talk, missy."

"Sure, _mom_," Cristina responded.

"Oh, god, and Owen. I made up some lame excuse about you going to the market. I actually said the word 'market,' Cristina! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry, geez." Cristina got up, wiggling Collin toward her as a peace offering. "Here, look at this face. It should make all your troubles go away."

Meredith gave her a half-hearted scowl.

"Come on. Look at the little face."

She sighed, taking Collin and passing him to Callie. She gave Cristina a full-on bear hug, squeezing her tightly for a moment. She spoke quietly. "Did you decide?"

"I did," Cristina said as she drew away. "Um, later, okay?"

"Yeah, definitely." In seconds, her scowl shifted into a smile, as was the tumultuous nature of their friendship. She gathered up her kids and headed for the door, calling out for Sofia, who was finally wearing clothes. The little girl skipped after her, and her parents followed.

"You don't _all_ have to be there," Cristina reminded them, coming to the front door. "You know, they have to do some things without you!"

Meredith turned, halfway done loading her son into his seat. "Go talk to Owen."

Cristina stomped her feet, provoking laughter from the little girls in the car. "I don't _wanna_."

"Go talk to him, you psycho," Meredith insisted. "And by the way, if you ever do anything like that to me again, I probably _will_ kill you. Pregnancy hormones are so unpredictable."

"I love you, too, Mer."

XxX

She went back to the Shepherd household and spread out on a different couch, watching Collin go nuts with half a dozen dolls and a monster truck. She felt nauseous, so she remained sedentary, letting the waves of morning sickness roll over her. It was more like 'all the time sickness' at the moment, and she felt like ironing the face of whoever had come up with that ridiculous name. Owen was working the day shift – or at least that's what she assumed, because he was gone when she got there – so she knew she had a little time to herself. But her friend was on personal leave, so within an hour Meredith had returned with her bottle-rocket of a son.

Meredith took in the sight of Cristina fusing with her living room furniture and smiled, setting Bailey down to play with Collin. His preschool didn't start for a few more days. He was faster, stronger, and much more developed than Collin, but he was sweet when it came to the deficits the younger boy suffered. He ran slower, watched himself, and explained things in detail.

Watching the two of them play gave her an idea of what the future would look like, if she decided to keep the munchkin growing in her uterus. Her kid would be about the same age as Meredith's twins, and the three of them would probably get into more mischief than anything the doctors at Grey-Sloan could cook up. Cristina would have the wild one who behaved a bit like a feral monkey experiencing civilized life for the first time, every time – just like her – and Meredith's would be more refined and sweet, like Bailey and Zola. Together they would rule the world.

It warmed her to think of such a path, but it also terrified her. Everything that she had been through told her that disasters were always a possibility, and she knew she couldn't handle losing a child, or losing Owen. She would fall to pieces. She would never walk tall like Meredith, or take it in stride like Alex. She would melt into a puddle and trickle down a drain.

"What are you thinking about?" Meredith wondered, sinking into the chair. She reclined it, groaning as she did a little stretch across it.

Cristina shrugged. "Future stuff. Scary stuff."

"I've been doing a lot of that, too."

"I keep coming up with a crap outcome," Cristina warned her. "Every way I put it… I just imagine losing Owen, or losing Collin, or losing…" her hand drifted to her stomach, and suddenly it occurred to her that she was already identifying with the fetus. "Losing this…" she continued.

Meredith smiled gently. It was one of those knowing smiles they always shared. It was the culmination of their experiences together. "I know. I think about that, too."

"Tell me again why you haven't gone on a killing spree."

She laughed in response to that, glancing at the boys, who were loading dolls into a big plastic dump truck. "I don't know. I get the warm and fuzzies when I'm with my kids. I guess I've accepted that bad things happen, and that we survive. We have survived, over and over again. And now Derek… my husband is gone, and I'm still here, and Zola and Bailey are still here." She laid her head back, her eyes sliding shut. "I still get to snuggle them, and teach them, and learn from them."

"Did you smoke something before you came back?"

"God, I wish."

Cristina giggled a little too much at that, earning a cocked eyebrow from her friend. "What?" she asked, smiling like an idiot. "Leave me alone, I have pregnancy hormones, too. For some reason everything you say is hilarious today."

"Well, stop it."

"Tell that to the fetus."

Meredith peeked at her. "Do you think I'll be twice the crazy because of the double babies?"

"Do you think we'll just sit here and yell at each other all day?"

"So you are keeping the baby?"

Cristina shrugged. "I think… I think I should… but we're not even sure if I'm really pregnant, are we? I mean, it could be a false positive. I feel much less nauseous now."

"I'm gonna go vomit, do you wanna come with me?"

"Why did you have to say the word?"

By the time six rolled around, they had two tired boys parked in front of the television, watching an infomercial about vacuums, and both of them had made several trips to the bathroom. Cristina was splayed across the right side of the couch, a wet rag growing steadily warmer on her forehead, and Meredith was on the left side, groaning every now and then. It was quite a sight to behold.

"I feel fine," Cristina said, pulling the rag away. She was keeping an eye on the clock, knowing that her soon-to-be-husband would be home any minute. "I just… I'm just tired. Why am I so tired?"

"Well, you flew here from Switzerland, and I'm pretty sure you haven't slept a full night since then. I'm missing at least two quarts of ice-cream."

"Sorry about that. I'll buy you more."

"You should get some sleep."

"It's too early."

"It's not like you have to work in the morning," Meredith pointed out. "You kind of sign your own paycheck, so if you don't show up nobody cares."

"Wow, Mer, that's really inspiring."

"Look, that vacuum is cordless. How cool is that?"

"You don't need a vacuum."

"Oh, yeah." Meredith rolled a little, grabbing her water from the side table and sipping on it. Her eyes were on the boys, who were seated just below them. "Should we go get Zola?"

"Is she gonna cry when we get there?"

"Yes. She hates leaving Sofia's house. It's like I'm severing limbs."

"Well, yeah. Some youthful tears should perk me right up."

Meredith smiled at her, nudging her leg. "There's my girl."

"Boys, hop up, we're going on a road trip," Cristina announced, climbing awkwardly around them and circling the couch to the front door.

She stopped in her tracks when the knob jiggled. Owen opened it, his eyes falling on her immediately. He had a look a strained patience on his face – leftover bedside manner from a long day treating injured people. She knew he wanted to scowl.

"Back from the market?"

She winced, glancing at Meredith, who was pretending to be asleep.

"Cristina, you can't just run off like that. Collin needs-"

"I know, I know," Cristina cut him off, crossing the distance between them and kissing his cheek. She put her arms around his neck, hugging him very briefly. "It's okay. I was going to run away, but I realized I had a one-year-old, so I went to Callie and Arizona's house, ate all their ice-cream, and slept on their couch. I have witnesses."

He looked doubtful. "Why did you want to run away?"

"Well, er, that's a story for another day. Right now you just need to know that I'm fine, Collin is fine, and we're fine. Everything's fine."

"But-"

"And I love you," she said, putting a hand over his mouth. "I love you so much, and I want to be with you. I want to marry you – again!"

"I'm becoming more worried with every word you say," he admitted, pulling her hand off.

She frowned. "Mer, back me up."

Meredith popped up, clearing her throat. "It's true. We were together all day. Well, most of the day. Well, mostly all of it."

"See? Mer is a bad liar, so you know she's being honest."

"I'm more concerned about why you left, than where you went."

She sighed. "You're not gonna drop that, huh?"

"No."

"We…" she glanced back, wondering how she should phrase something so delicate. "We shared a vomiting session last night, and it occurred to me that I've been feeling really sick and stressed lately… and over-emotional."

His eyes widened. She knew he had already come to the right conclusion.

"So I did a pregnancy test, and it came back positive."

She hated to see the look in his eyes when she said that. It wasn't elation, like it had been the first time she had brought this news to him. It wasn't the excitement of a prospective dad, or even the nervous optimism of a first time father. It was fear, and pain, and old wounds, floating back to the surface after years of silence on the topic. She had broken his heart in this respect.

She put her hands on his face, wishing to wipe away the uncertainty he was feeling. "I think we should keep it," she told him, searching his eyes for a change.

He tilted his head, looking mystified. "Really?"

"Yes."

Finally his frown shifted into a smile. It was a beautiful thing. He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips, falling into a stupid grin that made him look years younger. "Cristina… we're going to have a baby? You and I?"

"Yes," she said, taking a deep breath. She was really doing this.

"We're going to be a family."

"We already are," she responded, glancing back at Meredith, who was also grinning like an idiot, and the two boys on the floor, who had taken interest in dissecting the remote controller.

She saw her family laid out before her. It was a ragtag group of people, perhaps a little broken, a little disorderly, but they had the world at their fingertips. For a moment she wasn't afraid of the life growing inside of her, but excited for the possibilities it was going to bring. Collin was going to be a big brother. She and Meredith were going to grow together. She and Owen were going to go to city hall and take the 'ex' out of their marriage.

It was all going to go wonderfully, or horribly, horribly wrong.


	42. Exodus

**Exodus.**

**October 5, 2016.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

She sat alone on a park bench, with a view of the sinkhole she had plunged into nine months ago. It was still there, gaping like an open wound, surrounded by workers who were adding the final layer of gravel onto the top. From what she understood, the bottom was stacked with boulders, and as they moved up to the surface, they used smaller and smaller rocks, finally coming to the dusty, clattering material they were pouring now. She had spent some time out here while working through the adoption, just to clear her head, to come back to the place that had begun her downward spiral into the rabbit hole. The sound of boulders clicking together deep in the earth had, for reasons that evaded her, made her feel safer.

She was here for Collin now. He was running wild in the playground on the opposite end of the park. It was designed for younger children, and he had found companionship in a set of two-year-old twins. He could go on like that for hours, just giggling and grinning.

It was hard for her to feel the same sense of calm that her son did. She had brought him here to let him wind down after hours of sitting in board rooms, sorting out paperwork and delegating new responsibilities. He had been patient enough to let her get her work done, and he deserved a treat. He had also put up with her spontaneous moods, which jumped from elated to extraordinarily pissed off in a matter of minutes. Right now she was settling on depressed. He had also done well in his last Swiss health evaluation, scoring a seven out of ten for mobility as far as the synovial joint in his knee was concerned. It was degraded because of his infection. He had harbored a little colony of bacteria in his synovial fluid that found its way into his bone marrow. He was doing well now, despite the donor marrow in his knee, and the scars along his thigh.

He was alright, and she was alright, and almost everything was ready for their departure. She lingered, even though she had spent more than a month away from Owen to get this all organized. Something made her nervous, aside from the little lump growing in her belly.

She was afraid to make this decision.

Hours into his play session, the mother with the twins had to leave, and she waved to Cristina as she gathered up her kids. Collin looked like he would go with her, if only she had another hand to hold. He hobbled back to Cristina, not one to play alone, and she scooped him into her arms. She pulled his toboggan down a little, covering his red-tipped ears. It was chilly out, cold enough to snow if the sky was in agreement. She had better get going before that happened.

"Come on, psycho, we have one more stop to make before we go back to Seattle." She pulled her bag over her shoulder, glancing back at the workers and the sinkhole. It was where he was born, where he was _really_ born, and where his mother had _really_ died. She pressed a reflexive kiss to his cheek, mostly just to comfort herself. Collin was oblivious to her thoughts.

She took him back to the apartment, where the rest of their things were packed into two heavy duty suitcases. She had used the same ones when she moved from Seattle. Shane was waiting on the couch, and he got up as soon as she came into the door.

He hugged her before she could try to fend him off. He was warm, and he smelled like the cookies they had slaughtered that morning.

"Is it time?" he wondered quietly.

She glanced at the clock, recalled that they never changed the batteries, and pulled out her phone. It was almost time. "I have twenty minutes before I can check in."

"Why do you sound so sad about that?"

She dropped her bag, set the kid down, and melted into the couch, smiling when Collin crawled up with her. He scooted across her slightly protruding stomach – so inconspicuous that it could be put off as a large meal – and snuggled under her left arm. His eyes were getting heavy. She hoped he would wait to nap until they got on the plane.

Shane sat beside her, first looking at Collin, smiling, and then at her. She felt his sadness, the simple separation of a student from his teacher, and something else, too. He had become her friend. She loved him in a way that she couldn't explain, when there was a time she thought she would never like him. It was odd now, to feel this way for him, and to remember how they had first met. It was so long ago now, that he had just been an intern, and she was barely a cardiothoracic fellow. She was an attending now, certified by the Board, recognized for her achievements. He had grown so much, both through his skills, and as a person. He was a whole person now.

She knew that he could do this on his own. He was ready. He had learned from her, after all. She had spent every day hardening him, conditioning him, exposing him to as much as she could. She had never realized how fulfilling it was to teach him until she looked at him now – really looked at him – and saw the product of her dedication.

She leaned into his shoulder, shrugging, and shut her eyes. "Honestly – and if you ever repeat this, I'll find you and surgically remove your testicles – I don't want to leave you."

He laughed. It was kind of sad and kind of warm. "I know that feeling."

"It won't be forever. I'll be back sometimes – some weekends and what not – you know, to check up on things. This isn't goodbye."

"Then why does it feel like it?"

She looked up at his face, gauging his expression. Sadness. "Listen to me. Life doesn't end because you lose someone. It goes on… it's just different. And that can be good. Different can be good."

"Then why are you crying?"

She ran her hand over her face, holding back a little sob. She was at a loss when she imagined where it came from. "Shane… did I make the right choice?"

"I guess we'll find out."

"That's not helpful."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what you think."

"I think… the Institute was your dream. It was everything you worked for, everything you could have hoped for when you started out. You always had the strongest ambition, and it paid off for you. But dreams change. We grow up. Collin makes you just as happy as the Institute made you a year ago. I think… I don't think you need it anymore."

"We do grow up," she agreed, again recalling how young he had seemed the first time they really met. "In eighteen months the Institute will be under your direction, and you've earned it. You really have. I'm proud of you."

"Okay, okay, time for you to go." He hopped up suddenly, and she saw a glassy sheen over his eyes. "I have to work soon anyway."

She set Collin on the couch and got up, trapping her resident in a hug, perhaps their last hug for a long time. She committed his smell to memory, and the nights they had spent lying in bed together, bitching about their day, brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to her heart. Leaving him felt like a betrayal, but beyond that, it was like graduation. It was terrifying, and enlightening. It was the natural progression of one part of their relationship – the sacred bond between teacher and student – and a sad day for another part – the friendship, the companionship.

He seemed reluctant to release her, and even as he did, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes glassy again, and said, "Don't make me wait too long, okay?"

She nodded, forgetting the sarcastic response she had been creating in her mind. It faded away. Shane delivered her bags to the car and she strapped her son into his car seat, lingering to look up at the front door she had trudged toward for two years, and feeling the same sort of sad separation from it. This was the place she had run to when things got too complicated at the Institute. This was the place she had brought Collin home to when the adoption went through. This was the place she had become more than a neurosurgeon, but a better person. It was the site of her maturation, of many monumental decisions, of many devastating moments.

Once she pulled her eyes away, she didn't look back. She hopped into the driver's seat, backed up through a few inches of crunching snow, and headed into the city. Collin was drifting off already. The sun would set in roughly three hours, and hopefully she would be racing it across the clouds in a plane. Hopefully she would be in Seattle by the next morning.

Her confidence was shaken when she made it to the airport. She was stricken again with doubt, and she wondered if her decision to start a family with Owen was the right one.

How could her mind change in just two years? Was it just the pregnancy talking? If she decided against it, it would break his heart, so she was trapped now. She had made a promise to him, to the little boy snoozing in her backseat, and she couldn't bear to break it, but would that devotion to integrity make her miserable in the coming years? Would her stint in Switzerland, her time with Phyllis, her time underground, seem like child's play when she had two kids to care for?

She got a phone call just as she was considering fleeing into the woods.

When she saw the face on the screen, she took her first easy breath, reclined her chair, and answered it. "Mer, I need you to talk me down."

"It's not worth it. Uh, there are other surgeries. Death by cop is a crappy way to go."

Cristina smiled. "Really?"

"Covering my bases. What's wrong? I was calling to see if you had boarded yet. I guess if you're answering, that's a no. So what's going on?"

"I think I might chicken out and go live with the mountain people."

"But you hate hiking."

"Oh, yeah. Maybe I'll just hide out here, delist my name from the phonebook, and work at a clinic or something. I could raise Collin to be bilingual."

"You're not chickening out."

"But I-"

"Cristina Yang, you will board that plane and come home, and sit in my living room with me and eat ice-cream while we cry about our sad existences. I'm already on the couch eating ice-cream, so you can just join me, and we'll make a day out of it, okay? Webber doesn't want you in for the contract crap until the tenth, right?"

Cristina glanced back at the toddler sleeping behind her. "Sounds like a plan to me. Get mint-berry. Collin devours that stuff. And yeah, he wants me on the tenth."

"Did Owen tell you why he stepped down?"

He had mentioned his sudden career change in passing a few days ago, stating that he needed more down time that he was going to have a family, but Cristina thought he was using her as an excuse to get rid of that hectic job. Webber was happy to step up again, and he fit well into his old position. "He wants more time with me and Collin, supposedly."

"Hmm. Well he's banished from the house until I get enough time with you and Collin."

"We could shove the kids off on him and have a girl's night."

"Except we're both pregnant, angry almost all the time, and we throw up spontaneously."

Cristina winced. Pregnancy was not treating her well at all. She was surprised she had avoided feeling nauseous today, as stressed as she was. She felt like the little monster inside her uterus was tormenting her, teasing her, like it already hated her.

"I vote ice-cream and couch," Meredith reiterated. "Now go get on that plane. Tell Owen to drop you off here. You can look at my new minivan. Did I tell you about that?"

"Nope."

"Just bought it yesterday. Plenty of space for the munchkins."

Pleasantries were shared, and Cristina eventually had to hang up. Meredith was being a little clingy now that she was pregnant. It was hard to blame her, since she spent all day with two midgets and had absolutely no adult time without Derek. When her plane landed, Cristina was going to change that. She wasn't going to let her friend go looney.

She took Collin into the airport, checked in, and wait half an hour to board, donning Collin's handicap sticker to get them on faster. He was impaired, after all, even if he wasn't technically walking at the moment.

She got the baby his own seat, but held him anyway, sitting against the window and gazing out at the runway. They were stalled, waiting for something or another, but she didn't really care. It was his bedtime anyway. He wouldn't stir for eight or nine hours, and he was a mellow baby. He was pretty unlikely to scream for no reason.

She was the one who might scream, to release the anxiety alone.

**XxX**

**October 6, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was midnight in Seattle when their flight landed, though over ten hours had passed. Switzerland was nine hours ahead at all times, and though Shane would be snuggled up in bed by now, Cristina and Collin had traveled back to the middle of the night.

He was waiting in the airport, and when he saw them come out in a flood of other people, his face lit up. She couldn't help smiling in return. He was so cute when he was excited. She readjusted the slightly grumpy toddler in her arms and joined Owen in the lobby, laughing when he caught her in a bear hug. He was as warm as ever, and she had missed him. Her thoughts in the airport parking lot seemed silly now. Who would run from this beautiful man?

"I'll get the bags. Go ahead and hop into the car, get him settled. It's cold out there so cut the heat on." He handed over his keys. "I traded the truck in for something more… family friendly."

"Oh, god, did you and Meredith go minivan shopping together?"

"We did go shopping together, but I got an SUV. My truck wasn't big enough to fit two car seats."

She paled momentarily at that thought, and then grabbed the keys and headed for the door. He had to stop reminding her of that. She wasn't ready to accept that she was about to have two kids, instead of just the one boy she had signed up for. It was still overwhelming. It was still such an alien concept. From zero to two in roughly a year. She was going to lose her mind.

She sat in the car for a while, glad that Collin went right back to snoozing. He couldn't help himself when it was dark outside. His internal clock shut him down like a dead battery.

When Owen came out, he loaded the bags up, hopped into the driver's seat, and grinned at her again, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek. His hand went to her stomach, and his fingers wrapped delicately around her almost invisible bump. There was a new kind of happiness in him, a foreign kind of elation, and it wiped away her anxiety.

"How do you feel, momma?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Just… I'm fine. I feel fine_." I feel like throwing up on you, right here and now._ "Meredith wanted me to come over there, but she's probably asleep by now. Could you drop me off in the morning, before work?"

"Sure thing," he responded. She was pretty sure she could have asked him to go on a murder spree, and he would have happily agreed.

She put her hand over his, glad for the protective light in his eyes. At least she knew what kind of man she was going to spend the rest of her life with – someone she trusted, someone she loved, someone she knew would protect her kids, and her interests. He was the person who would remind her that she was crazy sometimes, and convince her she was pretty on her worst days. He was going to be that guy – it was all over his face – and the prospect made her excited. She was finally excited. It didn't beat out her fear completely, but it was a start.

"So show me these houses you were thinking about."

He grinned again, and soon they were on the road. She listened to him talk about work, about her old friends, about the environment at Grey-Sloan these days. She looked at the houses he had picked out around Seattle, and critiqued the outside of them with him, drawing laughter, and just a pinch of irritation, from her lover. She loved him like this.

When the tour was over, and they made it back home to the trailer, Cristina set her son up on the couch, with pillows below in case he decided to have a dream about Indiana Jones. She snuggled up with Owen in bed, enjoying the sensation of his skin against hers, and his breath on her neck, and his strong arms around her. For once she could appreciate him without feeling guilty. All of the things they had been through had allowed her this moment, this beautiful, peaceful moment, and she relished it.

"I love you," he whispered, sometime near early morning. Somewhere along the way their gazing at each other had become love-making, and now they were all tangled up, just like they used to be so many years ago. "I love you… so much. I can't even put it into words."

She kissed his jaw. "Shh. You get drunk when you're tired. Go to sleep."

He smiled. "Will you still be here when I wake up?"

"Unfortunately for you. And I'll probably be ready to vomit."

"I can take it."

She sat up a little, folding her arms over his chest so she could see his face. He was smiling, his expression illuminated by the moon, and there was a deep, deep affection resting on his eyes. It was her favorite look – the look that made her feel safe, and loved, and cherished. It was enough to provoke her to speak.

"I love you. I don't care what happens after this. I don't care how bad we fight. It doesn't matter. We can just… think of this. Think of what brought us here, and stay together."

"I think… you've been watching too much Oprah."

"You see, I say that to Shane all the time, but it's so _engrossing_."

His nose wrinkled in an adorable grin, and he leaned forward to peck her lips. "Go to sleep. Dream of me."

"Sorry, my dance card is full in that department." She rolled over, facing away from him with her back to his chest, her head resting on his bicep. She could hear his pulse. Her eyes slid shut as she spoke. "I only dream about mint-berry ice-cream now."


	43. Fourteen Weeks

**A/N: Just a warning, I was listening to the song "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran while I was writing this, so it may be a little mushy and emotional. Also, this chapter is slightly sexual. I thought you guys deserved it after all of your awesome reviews! And if you want to leave suggestions for the gender and name of the baby I would really appreciate it, because I'm very torn about that right now. I'm sorry this chapter is so short! I've been so exhausted between work and school lately, but I wanted to give you something this week.**

XxX

**Fourteen Weeks.**

**October 8, 2016**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She woke him up by whispering his name in the middle of the night. He was exhausted, but the way she said it was so enchanting that it forced his eyes open, and when he looked at him she had the most adorable smile on her face. He had no hope of denying her.

She rolled onto his stomach, straddling him, sliding her nightshirt up over her chest. Her skin, a pale fawn in the moonlight that came in through the tiny back window, was glowing, almost burning, in his eyes. She was beautiful to everyone, but to him there was a special spark, the quiet blessing of familiarity, of trust, of freedom. She was his to touch, his to taste, his to hold, and yet she seemed so transcendent this time of night that he hardly believed those things himself. It was almost a crime, to try to claim someone as wild as she was.

Her hips created a rhythm that dug deep into his core. With every pulsation, every gentle tingle, they were moving together, not just two people making love, but two souls mingling. In the dead of the night, every night, it was like the world stopped and this took place. This was the qualifier, the quantifier, of his life, and not for the physical pleasure, or the desperate release after strenuous days, but for the closeness, the fallen barriers, and the oneness of it all. He could say anything to her, show any side of himself, admit to any perceived darkness and expect this kind of devotion in return. It thrilled him, and haunted him, and drew him in so deep that he sometimes feared the rhythm in her hips would fracture him, that losing her now would devastate him beyond repair, and that the life she had breathed into him would suddenly stop. It was those times that she sensed his thoughts and, without judgement, pressed her lips to his forehead, and wrapped her fingers into his, and reminded him, sometimes only with her eyes, that this would never end.

But that night it did.

It was _that_ night, the coldest they had experienced this year, a windy, dreary, drizzly night, that she stopped suddenly and stared at him. He saw her through the filter of moonlight, a dazzling portrait of a scared woman, as tragic as it was captivating. He had spent long hours in the dawn of their relationship trying to figure out what was going on in her mind, and it still boggled him, all these years later. He was still on the outside of it, still marveling at the magnitude of her.

He could see her thinking now. Her eyes, which often passed from amused to infuriated in a matter of seconds, were now full of uncertainty. She had tears rolling down her cheeks, carving glistening paths across her skin, cutting off the almost mystical glow of the moon and revealing to his stunned mind that she was human. He had to come down from his own thoughts before he could register what was happening. She put a spell on him, and now she was breaking it, or letting it fade.

She sunk off of him like a deflated balloon, curling up into his side. She started sobbing, a deep, lonesome sort of sob, and the sound tugged at the frayed parts of his heart – places where that cry had already picked at the fabric, places where she had touched him before, and broken him.

He put his arms around her and drew her as close as he could, pulling the covers up her bare back, smoothing his hands over her shoulder blades. She was chilly, but not desperately cold; she was trembling, but only with the effort of her breathing; she was small in his arms, almost childlike, but not so weak that she was falling to pieces, not so fragile that he was concerned for her mind. It was the perfect storm of sadness, taking her over, lifting her off of the ground, and giving her a glimpse of the darkness, but never completely capturing her.

Owen had a delicate side when it came to her. He slid her hair away from her face and wiped her tears with his thumb, smiling reassuringly when her eyes met his, and opening up his arms when she slid toward him. She clung to his neck, no longer sobbing, but still trembling, and her tears rolled down his collar. Her breathing evened out, almost peaceful now.

It stayed that way for a while.

He held her and she held him, and the thought struck him that he would do anything she asked of him, no matter the consequences, no matter the challenge. He would do anything to please her. It was a dangerous sort of devotion, an all-or-nothing sort of deal, but it didn't scare him. He was done being afraid of the what-ifs. He let himself love her in such a whole way that he perceived no life _after_ her. It chilled him just to think of it.

When she finally stirred, over an hour had passed. Cristina pulled her head away, flashing him a brief, embarrassed smile and wiping her face on the sheets. She balled them up around her hands much like a child would, holding them against her neck, protecting herself from whatever had hit her so hard earlier. Her eyes settled on his stomach instead of his face, and she slid toward him, almost inconspicuously, to rest her head in the crook of his arm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her voice a little husky from crying.

He stroked her hair back again, even though it was already tucked neatly behind her ears. It was a habit for him. "It's okay. We can forget about it."

She laughed, but it died a little prematurely. "You are so predictable."

He was glad that she seemed to be coming back into herself. He would never admit it, but his muscles were wound up, like he was ready to go ten rounds with the invisible force that taunted her. She would think it was silly, but it was his reality.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She blew a heavy breath through her nose, laughed a little, and then looked away as her eyes teared up again. She was trying not to cry. "I had a pregnant moment."

Four days ago she had thrown her cellphone at him, missed, and thumped Collin in the back. He was fine, but she was devastated. She had cried for three hours. Compared to that this was minor, but it still scared him. He still wanted to help her, even if the problem was purely hormonal. He wished he comfort her brain, the way he did her body.

"Just forget about it," she went on, now showing her embarrassment for the first time. She peeked at him, grinning, and then climbed on top of him again. "Forget it happened."

Sometime later, impossible to measure with only the darkened clock on the wall, they fell apart again. It was a small bed, but they managed to spread out across it, hanging themselves out to dry. The sweat beading up on his skin made him cold, but he was unwilling to bundle up. He liked the feeling. He just gazed at the ceiling, tasting his heartbeat in his throat, until the trailer was quiet once more. The only sound came from down the walkway, where Collin was breathing softly on the table bed. It was the perfect moment, a true picture of their triumph.

"I was thinking about Mer," Cristina admitted eventually.

He looked at her, wrinkling his nose. "You were thinking about Meredith while we were having sex? Should I be concerned?"

She punched his arm halfheartedly. "No, you pervert. I was just… the thought struck me, and I couldn't shake it. I realized how happy I was – how happy we are – and it made me think of how unhappy she is." She reached over, pressing her hand over his heart. Her eyes were burning. "Owen, she lost her version of you. I just thought of losing you like that."

"I'm going to live forever," he assured her, putting his hand over hers. "You should get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow."

"I'm just drowning in ice-cream with Mer."

He frowned. Had she really forgotten so quickly? "And then?"

Her eyes widened briefly. "Crap. Dr. Goodyear?"

"Dr. Goodman, and yes."

"What if he finds horns on it? Or a tail?"

"We'll file the horns and cut off the tail."

"And what if he's born a pigmy? I can't take care of a pigmy baby!"

"Why would he…?" Owen stopped midsentence, cupping her face in his hands. "He'll be perfect, and you'll do great tomorrow. Just don't forget, okay? I'm meeting you there."

"Right. Four O'clock."

"Three."

"Is that in Eastern time?"

He smiled patiently. He had all the time in the world to listen to her evade the obstetrician. He only worked half a day in the morning, specifically for this visit, and so the late hour did not turn him off. He just watched her, folding his arm up under his head, resting his cheek on his forearm, giving her an occasional encouragement. Everything was perfect, so he could be tired tomorrow, but he would not be grumpy. He couldn't manage something so out of place.

Eventually she fell asleep, curled up in his arms, occasionally muttering something inappropriate. He was enchanted by the prospect of spending the rest of his life listening to her breathe every night. Everything was finally falling into place for them. Everything was going to be fine.


	44. Multiples

**Multiples.**

**October 9, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina stared at the ceiling. It was all she could do to keep herself from groaning. She was not angry, or tired, or anxious; she was not particularly happy, or overly sad; she was not afraid, or anxious, or lonely. She was empty. Devoid. It was strange, after so many days of intense emotion, and so many weeks of wondering how her future would unfold. She was sure of it now. For some reason she could see it spreading out before her, and now that she was finally resting, now that all of the pieces were poised to drop into place, she finally had the pleasure of feeling nothing.

She would see her baby for the first time today. She would finally get eyes on the little creature she was cooking in her uterus. He would look like a teeny alien invader this early in the pregnancy, a little lump barely distinguishable from a tadpole, but she was prepared for it.

Owen was afraid. While they had gone through their routine that morning, Owen had looked sullen and uncertain, like he was remembering what had originally driven a wedge in their marriage. She remembered, too, and though the act itself did not bring her the same misery, she could sympathize with him. He was afraid to become attached too early, in case this appointment revealed something devastating. It was in their nature, because of what they had been through, because of their professions, to expect horrible things. Bad outcomes. He had dropped her off, kissed her forehead, and left reluctantly to complete his shortened shift.

She had the unbelievable relief of feeling no fear. She had been through everything already. She imagined no more punishments for herself. She had already lost too much. It made no sense to lose this – to lose the baby that she wanted. So she let herself rest, spread comfortably on Meredith's couch, her son curled up on her chest, and she stared up at the ceiling. It had chocolate milk stains on it. Or at least she hoped those were chocolate milk stains.

Meredith was beside her, one arm wrapped around Cristina's, her legs folded neatly on the coffee table – they had dragged it right up to the couch because leaning over to get the ice-cream had become quite a chore. Bailey had begun the morning zipping around the living room with Collin, but when Collin came to sit with Cristina, the littlest Grey was forced to settle down. He slept next to his mother, his mouth wide open, a spoon still clasped in his hand. Zola was in the nearby recliner, her knees bundled up to her chest, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was playing a game on her mother's phone, completely spaced out.

"Do you ever wonder what comes next?" Meredith said suddenly.

Cristina glanced at her, inconspicuously gauging her mental state. She seemed sad, but sturdy. She wasn't spiraling into grief again. She was just probing for conversation. She was just asking one of those deep, spiritual questions they usually tackled when they had their beer goggles on.

"Not lately," Cristina responded. She had thought about death during the funeral, when Derek was staring back at her behind a layer of glass, his smiling face propped on a tripod at the front of the church. She wondered how other people got through it. She wondered what it was like, what kind of comfort it must be, to believe that something wonderful awaited Derek in the next life. Cristina did not personally believe that. She accepted the mystery of it all. Whatever came for her would come, and she would be too dead to care.

She wondered for the first time what Meredith thought about the afterlife. She had to believe in something else. She had spoken of outer body experiences, so her mind was open to the possibility, at the very least. Cristina dared not ask her now, because it would make her think of Derek.

She did not want to see her friend cry again.

"I think about life," Cristina went on, hoping to distract Meredith. Her expression was gradually darkening, like she was touching on that forbidden topic.

Meredith sighed. "What about it?"

"Leighton's Defect."

"You wonder why cute little babies can be born with time bombs in their chests."

"Well, everybody technically has a time bomb in their chest. Hearts don't last forever. We wear them out every day, with every step, with every breath, with every cheeseburger." She put her feet up, pulling a blanket over both of their legs, and up part of Collin's back. One of the spoons clattered onto the coffee table. She watched it, frowning. "I wonder about… how I'm going to fix it, how I can build a better heart."

"John is coming in…?" Meredith prompted.

"January. Paperwork has to go through, and the Board is dragging its feet with the approval process. His parents aren't filthy stinking rich, so they don't make the top of the priority list."

Meredith snuggled a little closer, using the corner of the blanket to cover her son's legs. She glanced at Zola, perhaps wondering if she should speak freely with one of the kids awake, and then she looked back at Cristina. Her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. "Do you think he'll live?"

"Honestly? No. I keep telling everybody that he might. I even tell Owen that." She stretched out her arms, and then wrapped them around Collin.

Meredith tilted her head, pursing her lips. "But the surgery might save other kids, if you can get to them before they reach his severity."

"I'm still just experimenting. I mean, I have a plan, but I have no idea what I'm going in on. Burke set up his treatment plan four years ago – that was the last time anybody was in this kid's chest. A lot can go wrong in four years."

"I believe in you," Meredith responded lamely, patting her shoulder. She yawned. "I think… I think I need more ice-cream." She sat up, grabbing at one of the tubs, and then she started crying. She shook her head, shaking tears onto the blanket.

Cristina stared at her incredulously for a split second, and then her own eyes watered. "Stop that!" she growled, wiping her sleeves across her cheeks. "You know I can't control my emotions!"

"Me either," Meredith wailed. "I was just… I was thinking about all the cows who got milked to make this ice-cream… and we just ate it all!"

Cristina held her breath, and then she burst into a sob. "All the cows!"

"Yeah," Meredith agreed, beginning to sob, too.

It went on like that for a short time, until the crying ebbed off and they started laughing. Cristina felt like she had been drinking all morning, and now, drunk and out of their minds, they were trying to pass for responsible adults. Pregnancy was funny like that, particularly when it involved two people who had spent over a decade together, feeding on each other's dysfunctionality.

"I have to pee," Cristina complained, trying to stand, and then sitting back when she realized her son was still sleeping on her. His foot was jammed into her bladder. She shifted him around, sighing contently. "Never mind. Problem solved."

Meredith hummed, tipping one of the ice-cream tubs up. "We need more."

"I agree wholeheartedly, but I have an appointment, remember?"

"Oh yeah. I think you're already late."

Cristina winced. "Owen is probably panicking by now."

"Where's your phone?"

"In my coat. In Owen's car."

Meredith smiled at her. "Well, let's go find Grumpy, and find out what Mr. Baby looks like."

Her friend began to stand, but Cristina stayed where she was, suddenly uncertain. She ran her hand over Collin's back, tilting her head to look at his face. "Meredith what if…?"

Meredith eased her son down onto the couch cushion and crouched down by Cristina's legs, patting her thigh with one hand. "Your baby is going to be beautiful, and healthy, and you guys are going to love it. Collin is going to be a great big brother, just like Zola is a great big sister. Our kids are going to grow up together, and learn together, and love each other, just like we do."

She paused, glancing back at her daughter, who had taken interest in her words. She smiled, beckoning her, and Zola came over to embrace her. Meredith had a twinkle in her eyes when she looked back at Cristina, when she looked down at Collin.

"We are going to have the _best_ life."

It was all Cristina could do to keep herself from crying. She nodded, her eyes a little cloudy, and swallowed her doubts. "Okay. Okay, let's do this. _Dramatic_. Geez."

XxX

She stared at the screen for half a second, drawing on the fuzzy knowledge of this image from medical school. She knew exactly what she was looking at, and it took her half a second – and only half a second – to figure out how she felt about it.

She laughed. She laughed like she hadn't laughed in years. It came straight from her gut and strained her abs, like she was doing sit-ups. It came with such a force that Dr. Fletcher flinched a little, dutifully moving his little wand with her every convulsion. He didn't seem to know what to think of it. Meredith realized it as well and started giggling, putting her hand over her mouth to cover a few snorts. Owen was the only one who was oblivious. He frowned at Cristina, somewhere between the grumpy man she had met up with in the parking lot and the nervous one who had dropped her off at Meredith's that morning.

"Is somebody gonna fill me in?" Owen wondered.

Cristina took a few deep breaths. "Owen… don't freak out…" She calmed herself, only letting the occasional giggle slip through. "I see two sets of feet."

"No you don't," he responded blankly.

Cristina laughed out loud again, only containing herself at his disturbed look. "Owen, look. Two sets of feet. Two babies."

Meredith threw her head back, laughing again. "Two sets of twins! Due within a month of each other! You and me! It had to be you and me, didn't it?"

"Oh, God, the poor daycare ladies!"

"And the teachers!"

Dr. Fletcher looked at Owen, seeking solace. He was the only one who seemed serious. "Um, they're right about the image. I see two sets of feet and the outline of another head behind the first one. It can be hard to tell at this stage because the twins are lying parallel to one another, but as time goes, their presence will become more obvious."

Owen ran one hand through his hair, shaking his head. His eyes were wide. "I can't believe this. What are the odds?"

"It's not actually that uncommon for pregnancies occurring after the age of 35 to result in multiples. In the last few decades the number of women over 40 giving birth to twins has actually increased by two hundred percent."

Meredith leaned in to the monitor, squinting. "I wish they'd had this kind of imaging technology three years ago. Bailey looked like a little squid two months in. Yours actually look like babies."

"Technology has come a long way," Fletcher agreed, shifting the wand a little. "Unfortunately there is a large deposit of fluid on the other side, blocking our view of the second fetus. I can tell the gender of the first one, though, if you two would like to know."

Cristina looked at Owen. He seemed to be in another place. She grabbed his hand, clearing her throat. "Owen? Do you want to know?"

He looked at her like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh, can we wait until we can see both?"

"Sure we can," she responded, using her mommy voce. He seemed on edge. She looked at the doctor, forcing herself to forget how hilarious this whole situation was. "We can wait. Are we done here? We left our kids in the daycare downstairs."

Fletcher nodded. "I just want to go over the risks with you."

"I know the risks," Cristina responded dryly. She didn't like how pale Owen was. It seemed the he was going through an encyclopedia on the risks right now, completely in his own head.

Meredith stood up, grabbing Owen by the arm. "How about we go get some air?"

He followed her, glancing back just before the door closed. He looked terrified. It reminded her of how she had looked her first day with Collin, driving him home from the rehabilitation center. He had cried the whole way. She had been so afraid, so out of place, like a little paper ship tossing about in the ocean. For some reason this wasn't as scary. She had been through the trial with Collin. She had been tested already. It was Owen's turn now.

"In a pregnancy like this, there is a very real possibility that one or both of the zygotes will not grow to viability," Fletcher said, gaining her attention again. He removed the wand, making the monitor go blank. He gave her a sad smile. "According to the date you gave me for conception, these zygotes should be much larger. Twins are known for their low birth weights and being born prematurely – if they develop too slowly…"

"I know. They die." Cristina groped for the wand, relaxing into the chair when he pressed it back to her stomach. She gazed at the screen, watching the tiny human hidden in a maze of black and beige. "But they're going to live. Just so you know."

"When you come back we'll obtain a sample from both of them for chromosomal analysis. I'll leave an image of the ultrasound at the front desk, if you want to pick it up on your way out," Fletcher responded quietly, pressing a few buttons on the monitor. He moved her hand to the wand, letting her hold it in place. "I'll leave you alone." He headed toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "We'll do what we can to promote their growth, Dr. Yang. I appreciate your positive attitude. That will take us further than any vitamin."

When she was alone, she shifted the wand around, inspecting the little blob of tissue. She could tell the gender, too. She had spent a few long hours last night examining ultrasound pictures on her phone while Owen slept with his arms locked around her. She smiled to herself, a warm spot growing within, and tried to put the doctor's warning out of her mind.

He was wrong. Her twins were healthy. Everything was going to be fine.

Meredith came to retrieve her, helping her wipe the slime from her belly with a paper towel. She frowned at the blank screen. "Did he print a picture?"

"He put it at the front desk," Cristina told her, pulling her shirt back down and hiking her pants up. "Is Owen throwing up? He looked like he was gonna throw up."

"I got him some water and put him outside on a bench. I think the cold air will be good for him." Meredith walked with her to the lobby, and they both stood there for a moment, watching Owen sip from his little plastic cup outside. He looked absolutely adorable, all flustered and confused. "Or maybe he needed a therapist," Meredith commented.

"He just needs time." Cristina looked longingly at the elevators. "Let's go get the kids and find some more ice-cream."

"Should we… should we go get Owen?"

Cristina pretended to debate, laughing. "I got it."

She went outside, shrinking back from a cold breeze. Owen looked up at the sound of the door squeaking. Meredith had placed him on a sort of outdoor balcony special to this unit – it was for the family members of expecting mothers, a peaceful place to clear their minds. Owen had his little cup between both of his palms, leaning hard onto his knees. The way he looked up at her through his lashes, an intense innocence in those beautiful eyes, made her melt.

He rose to meet her and she embraced him, pressing a kiss firmly to his cheek. "It's okay," she murmured, running her hand down his hair, just like she did with Collin. "We can handle this."

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm usually the calm one."

"Times change. Look at me, completely Zen. Follow in my footsteps."

He smirked, drawing away. "I have a better idea. Let's go get Collin and do something today. Like go to the park. Or visit my mom."

"I have an even better idea than that," Cristina said, leading him in while she spoke. She jammed the 'down' button on the elevator and leaned into his side, appreciating the warmth he supplied when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "How about you take Collin to the park, and then to your mom's house, and I lay on the couch-bed and occasionally vomit into the trashcan."

He kissed her forehead, leading the way as the elevator opened. "Sounds good, except I have to be there to hold your hair back."

"But Collin doesn't need to see that."

He grimaced. "Oh, right. Your plan, then."

"And then when you come home, and Collin is all tuckered out, I can show my gratitude for you being such an amazing man," she said, lowering her voice as her words went on. She ventured closer, pressing a kiss to his lips and smiling suggestively.

He grinned back. "Sounds like a very good plan."

The doors opened and Meredith stood there, her hands on her hips. Cristina shrunk away from Owen, scratching her head. Owen laughed. Meredith shook her head. "Seriously? I was down here for thirty seconds!"

"He started it," Cristina said, skipping off of the elevator. She could already hear kids' music playing from down the hall.

Someone yelled. "Bailey! Let go of her hair!"

"Derek Bailey Shepherd!" Meredith screamed, half-jogging toward the daycare door.

Cristina looked at Owen, smiling, and slowed to match his pace. She wrapped her arm into his, watching his eyes for the moment, satisfied with where they were, and how far they had come. Soon she would marry him. Soon they would have Collin and two little babies. Soon the life he had imagined for them would become reality, and what she had rejected earlier in life would become everything she ever wanted.

And somehow it would all work out.


	45. Symbiont

**Symbiont.**

**October 9, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He ran across the playground – or, rather, he staggered across, dragging his leg because his knee had locked up again – and scaled the nearest piece of equipment, lingering momentarily at the top before taking the plunge down the bumpy slide. He laughed all the way to the bottom, even when he got a face full of cold, hard woodchips. He was fearless, dauntless, in the face of everything this park could throw at him, be it wailing babies or a hyperactive boxer puppy obsessed with nibbling fingers. Collin did not hesitate. He never even flinched. He was a nineteen-month-old piece of iron. And he was population, with his curly, pale blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, a beautiful kid by every standard, even if he did look a bit like a girl because his mother refused to take him to the barber. At least he looked like a pretty girl.

Owen followed his every move, shadowing him through the playground, putting a hand out when the kid stumbled, waiting at the bottom when he went down a slide. Sometimes he was too fast to catch, too accustomed to hobbling around to be crippled by it any longer. He was amazing in that respect. Owen knew what he had been through very early in his life, and it must have left a mark somewhere in his young mind, but Collin found a way to overcome it. He was just like Cristina.

Only one thing could faze the daring little boy. It was the rumbling sound of a truck coming down the highway, over a mile away, but still enough to shake the ground. Owen was watching it pass, frowning into the sun, when he heard Collin crying.

"I got you," he said, turning and sweeping the little boy up. He rubbed his back. Collin latched onto his neck and buried his face in Owen's shirt, sobbing like he'd lost a finger.

He was remembering the sinkhole. Owen had spoken to Derek about this while Collin was in his coma, months and months ago. Derek had speculated on the memory capacity of children as young as Collin, with a sullen expression and a flat, monotonous voice.

"_He might remember bits and pieces of it. He might feel afraid sometimes, but he would be unable to place it. He would flinch at certain sounds, certain smells, and never understand where it was coming from. Even if we explained it, his mind would still miss the connections. Early memories are tricky. Some of the worst cases of child abuse early in life produced lasting effects, even in children who were rehomed and raise by loving parents. Sometimes the damage is so intense that the memory never leaves them. Our minds sometimes hurt us more than they help us."_

Owen could understand that. He could relate to that. He knew what this baby was feeling because he had experienced the same thing when he came home from the war. He saw flashes of blood, felt intense rage, intense sadness, so spontaneously that he was helpless to it. He had no control. His mind placed importance in what he had been through, so it kept coming back.

He wondered, though, how it felt to be as young as Collin, to feel so afraid. He was already helpless. He was already crippled. How much more could that hole take from him?

"Okay, okay," Owen murmured, placing one hand on the back of the baby's head and walking him to the nearest bench. He sat with him, stroking his back, using the gentlest voice he could manage. "It's okay. I won't let anything hurt you. I've got you."

"_Hold_ me," Collin whined.

"I'm holding you," Owen responded. He flicked a woodchip out of one of Collin's blonde curls, settling his hand on the kid's tiny back. He could feel Collin's heart racing through his palm. "Why don't you sing your song for me? Remember that song you sung me, with the monkeys?"

Collin shook his head, whimpering.

"Okay. Um. Do you want to go see Grandma?"

He shook his head again.

"You know what? I bet she has cookies for you. Remember when she gave you cookies last time? Maybe you could help Grandma make some cookies. What do you think?"

Collin loosened his grip on Owen's shirt sinking back a little. He still curled up against his chest, a tiny little thing wreathed by Owen's arms, and he peeked up through his lashes, jamming his hand against his forehead to get a curl out of his face. He had tears on his cheeks and his expression, one of irritation, mixed with fear and uncertainty, was undeniably adorable. Owen couldn't help a smile. Somehow it looked familiar. He had seen that expression before.

"Do you wanna go make cookies with Grandma?" Owen prompted.

Collin glanced at the playground, snuggling further into Owen's stomach, and then nodded, biting his lip. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Owen's neck again. "Cookies with Grandma," he said, carefully enunciating. He rubbed his face on Owen's cheek, laughing a little.

"What're you doing?" Owen asked, enchanted by the little boy. He stood up, heading for the car.

"Tickles," Collin announced, drawing away, grinning, and squealing. He rammed his forehead into Owen's cheek, laughing again.

Owen peeled him away, tossing him a few feet into the air and making him laugh harder. He was glad it was so easy for Collin to move past his fear. Perhaps that was the advantage of being so little. "You're silly," Owen told him.

"_You're_ silly," Collin countered, smiling at his own genius.

His mother was happy to receive them. Collin was still a little shy around her, but as they stepped into the kitchen and the smell of a cake cooling on the counter hit, Collin lost his bashfulness and wriggled around until Owen put him down. His mom crouched down to his level and listened to him tell her a random story about the park, and though Owen was sure she couldn't understand most of it – it was all context with young kids – she looked completely engaged.

He stayed with them for a short time, but then he remembered the familiar face Collin had given him. He must have seen it in a photograph or something. He felt compelled to find it, to identify it. It felt important.

"Mom, I'm gonna go up in the attic and look through those old albums."

She barely glanced at him. "Okay, honey. Get my Halloween decorations down while you're at it. Collin can help me put them up. Isn't that right, pumpkin?"

He rolled his eyes. She was already in love, and Collin was soaking it up. He would survive a few minutes without Owen in the room. He left them talking about the bumpy slide and headed for the hall, where a string dangling from the ceiling signaled the entrance to the attic. He pulled it, stepping back and smiling as the ladder descended. When he was a kid, his mother would scold him for pulling that string. She always expected it to come down and whack him.

He climbed the ladder and a wave of uncertainty rolled over him.

He remembered it clearly now, when it had only been fuzzy before. His father had returned from deployment and sat in the corner of this attic, obsessively organizing photo albums. He could still see him hunched in the corner, still wearing his dusty airman uniform. He was allowed one day at home before shipping off to Vietnam, finally part of the combat after building weapons for the last few months. He was entering combat again, less than a year after his last combat tour had ended.

He only had one day at home, one day to spend with his family, one day to explain how dangerous his next mission was to his young son, and he spent it in the attic organizing those stupid albums. Owen could remember his frustration with it. He could remember being yelled at when he tried to interrupt. It was an old memory, but one he barely recognized.

Owen sat where his father had been, cracking open the first book. What else had he forgotten? Was his life really as wonderful as he recalled? Why did he feel so anxious all of the sudden?

He knew the warning signs, and he should have shut the book, but he was already engaged. He was all too familiar with the pressure building up in his mind, and yet he let himself fall into it. He let it swallow him up, consume him. Flashes of memories he had suppressed came flowing back, triggered by the pictures. It all became clear to him.

His albums were arranged from the early days of their marriage, to the birth of Owen, to his first deployment as an Air Force engineer. Owen skipped past the happy faces and open smiles. He knew those memories very well. When he thought of his father, he thought of those camping trips, of those ballgames, and the laughter they shared. He thought of cheap hotdogs and campfires and ghost stories. He thought of those moments before he was called to duty.

And then Owen came upon that first sad face, and it struck him for the first time how wrong his perception of his childhood was. He recalled that day now, when his father had left for the Dominican Republic. He had arranged this sad family photo. And then his return followed it, and Owen stared at the ghost living in his father's eyes. It was like looking in the mirror.

It was a trend that continued until the end of the album, until he found the very last picture. It was the same day his father had been obsessing over the albums. It was the day he had been in this attic, hunched over all of these disturbing photographs documenting his descent, that the last photo was taken. He had pulled them into the kitchen, taken it quickly, hastily, and then stuck it in here. It was faded yellow now. Owen was frowning in it. It was the last picture they ever took together, the last time his dad put his hand on Owen's shoulder, the last time he told him he loved him, even if it was an empty phrase coming from a broken mind.

His only goodbye after that was to an empty coffin with a charred dog tag lying on top of it.

Owen slammed the album shut, taking a few deep breaths to try and rid himself of the sadness of that memory. He wondered if Cristina ever saw him the way he saw his father – the way he _knew_ he saw his father, now. Would she block it out one day? Would Collin try to forget the bad parts of him, just like Owen had done? He hated the idea of it. He hated everything about it.

He must have feared it on some level. He must have feared being the kind of father that his was. He must have feared raising his children to forget part of his personality.

He was going to have his own children, his own flesh and blood, in less than a year. Would they see in him what he saw in his father? The thought bred anxiety in him. It made his stomach coil up. He had already been this person once before, when he had first met Cristina. It would not be hard to sink back into it, to find that abyss again, to wallow in it. He saw her fearful eyes again, the violent nightmares that had driven him to hurt her, the growing agitation that had made her fear him. It felt so close now, so easy to touch.

So easy to trigger.

He stored the albums in the same old cardboard box and retreated, coming slowly down the ladder to avoid the toddler streaking through the house. When he hit the bottom he recalled another part of that day, climbing down the ladder with a heavy heart, having his mom wrap her arms around him and assure him that his father was just fine. Everything was just fine.

His mother appeared in the doorway, about to say something to him, a smile on her face, an exact parallel of that day thirty years ago when he was just a little boy. And then her smile faded suddenly. She saw it in him. "Owen? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Owen responded dryly, folding the ladder up and letting it recoil into the ceiling. He watched the string bounce around for a moment. "We should go. Cristina gets anxious when Collin is gone for too long."

"You never told me about the appointment," his mother reminded him gently. He knew that caution in her voice. She had used it for a while after his return from combat.

"We're having twins," Owen announced, pushing past her into the kitchen. He caught the toddler, but had to put him back down when he squirmed. "We have to go, Collin."

"Owen, you're scaring me," his mother said, pursuing him to the front door. She put a hand on her shoulder. He shrugged it off. "Owen, sweetheart, what were you looking for up there?"

He had no idea what he could say to her. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all. His mind was boxing up the idea, the emotions he felt about his father, about the last day they had spent together, and he couldn't put it into words. He didn't want to. He wanted it to fade. All he had to do was forget about it again. He had to put it back where it was before he had seen those albums. He had to step back in time.

"You look just like you did that first day you came home."

He turned on her, feeling a flash of anger. "How can you say that?"

"It's true," his mother said, keeping her voice level despite how he had raised his. Collin paused in the doorway, looking puzzled. His mother stepped back to put her hand on his little head. "Do you remember how your father was when he came home? He wouldn't talk, and it just got worse."

She said exactly what he didn't want to hear. He was remembering it now. He yanked the door open. "Come on, Collin. Cristina is waiting for you."

He hung back frowning.

"Collin," Owen repeated, holding out his hand.

His mother stepped between them. "You're scaring him."

"He's not… he's not scared of me!" Owen snapped.

Suddenly another memory came to him. He had barely touched it. He was standing where Collin was, nearly as small as the boy, and his mother was in front of him. His father was at the door, swaying a little, looking exhausted and disturbed. He was pointing at them, yelling something that Owen had never understood until this moment.

_He's not scared of me._

But it wasn't true. Owen could feel the fear all over again. His father was spiraling and he sensed it. He sensed that this man was different from the one who took him camping, the one who made him laugh, the one who carried him around on his shoulders. Something had changed in him. Something fundamental was different, and he barely recognized him.

Where were the happy memories? Before now he could look back and feel the warm glow of friendship he had experienced with his father, but now it was dark, now it was twisted. Had he really denied these moments? Had he forced himself to forget? Had he locked away this part of his father? How had he forgotten the soldier, the damaged mind, the troubled soul, that had come back to them more and more battered every time he stepped out of this house?

Owen shook himself, trying to force an easy breath. He knew in the logical part of his mind, the part that had been through therapy and conquered the haunting memories of war, that he was having some sort of attack. He knew he had been triggered. But there was another part of him, a stronger part, which fell for it every time. It was the most frustrating feeling. It was the most helpless he had felt in quite a while, and it piled on the anger, the uncertainty, and the anxiety.

He needed air. He threw open the door and rushed outside, struggling to find his car keys. He could hear his mother shouting after him, but her voice came through a funnel. It was happening again. How could it be happening again? It was his worst fear, his most intimate demon.

It had finally come for him.

He locked himself in the Durango, hunched over across the back seats with his hands locked on the back of his neck. Having that contact usually calmed him a little. He had done it in the desert when he was anxious about a mission. It wasn't working now.

He tried to breathe, just to get some oxygen past his tightening throat, but the car had become a vacuum. He was suffocating.

Something tapped on the window.

Owen groaned, balling his fist into the seat. His mother must have been watching. What would she think of him now, melting just like his father had?

The tapping came again.

He forced himself to look up, just for a split second, just to yell at her to get away from him, but he saw Collin instead. She was holding him up to the window. He looked curious, and when their eyes met, he held out his little arms, fingers spread, in the gesture for a hug.

Owen let his head drop again. "I'm okay, buddy. Just give me a minute."

He tapped once more.

Owen reached up and pulled the lock. His mother opened the door, and while he expected her to come in to drag him out, she simply set the baby on the seat and closed the door back. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and he saw the same fear he had seen that night with his father. She turned and walked away, back up to the porch, and disappeared inside.

"Just let me… just let me breathe," Owen said to Collin, unsure about his presence. He didn't want to lash out at the kid. He was afraid he would say something aggressive.

Collin pushed him up a little by his shoulder, and then wrapped his arms around Owen's neck, patting one hand on his back. He got real close to his ear and repeated exactly what Owen had said to him earlier. It was a haunting thing to hear, but it was poetic at the same time.

"I got you. I'm holding you."

Owen released a pent-up breath and sat up, pulling the kid wholly against his chest. He held him tightly, chuckling. A tear found its way to his cheek. He could not understand the relief of having the kid there. He could not understand the simplicity of what Collin had said. He could not place the comfort he derived from just sitting here, having a toddler in his arms.

No wonder Cristina had fallen so deeply for Collin. He was something else. He was a soldier, wounded just like Owen, and they sat here as brothers.

Collin drew away, placing his little hand on Owen's cheek, resting his head on Owen's shoulder, and said, "Cookies with Grandma?"

Owen laughed. It was a great feeling. It uncoiled his insides and let him think beyond the anxiety. His mind was clearing up. "Yeah. I wanna go make cookies with Grandma." He sat back against the seat, enjoying a few unobstructed breaths. He shut his eyes.

When he looked up again, Collin had his head rested on Owen's shoulder again, his eyes reflecting Owen's off-kilter expression. He twisted his little lips, and then smiled.

Owen smiled back. He pushed another curl from the kid's face. "I think you and me are gonna get along just fine."


	46. Fraternal

**Fraternal.**

**October 18, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina sat with both hands resting on her stomach. His office was colder than last time, but her anxiety about this appointment made it a nonissue. She just shivered and waited, twiddling her thumbs, running her fingers over the bulge growing beneath her shirt. It was beyond noticeable now. She had been back to work for over a week and everybody and their grandmother had to comment on her size – especially Korev. He had been at it nonstop since her return. She was ready to get this whole thing over with, ready to get rid of this hard lump in her belly and have the kids already. Owen annoyingly pointed out, at least three times a day, that she would have to be patient.

She was really considering leaving the office in an angry sway when Fletcher finally came in. He smiled at her and mashed the power button on his ultrasound cart. It buzzed to life and the screen came up blank. Cristina took a deep, settling breath through her nose.

"Is your husband at work?" Fletcher wondered.

She shrugged. "Sort of. I guess."

She would not tell the doctor she had left her fiancé at home, having stolen his keys and locked him in their closet-sized bathroom. Hormones could do funny things – or, at least, she would blame it on the hormones. Honestly she thought it would be better for him to stay at home. He had freaked out on her last time. She didn't need more panic on her hands.

Fletcher nodded, applying a clear sheet of plastic to the probe. "Your lab work from last week came back. It looks like both babies are developing at a healthy rate, with no chromosomal conditions or defects apparent in their DNA. Also, they're fraternal, not identical."

"Good, good."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"

"I just want to know what they are," Cristina responded, lifting her shirt to give him access to the watermelon she had swallowed whole. She flinched a little at the cold jelly he spread over her skin.

Fletcher began moving the wand over the area, adjusting a few settings on the monitor as he went. He cleared his throat. "So, these are your twins at eighteen weeks. Baby A is a girl and Baby B, way in the back there, is a boy."

"So one of each," Cristina said, a little relieved by that. Meredith was set to have identical girls. It was nice to know Cristina would actually be able to tell hers apart.

Cristina was seeing them again, this time significantly bigger, more baby-shaped than last time. The girl, always center-stage, had her hand up, blocking most of the view of the boy. Seeing them this way made her more eager to get this over with. She wanted them out already. She had no way of monitoring them in there. What if she laid on them wrong? What if the girl decided to take after Cristina and strangle her brother with his own umbilical cord?

"I'll make a print-out of this, and if you want I can make a recording, so your husband can hear the heartbeat for himself. Your little girl is quite active."

"Yeah, do that."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Cristina sat up, disrupting the image. She pushed the wand away and cleaned her belly, pulling her shirt back down. "I'm fine. Not much to look at. Just two little blobs with appendages – or nubs, I guess. Whatever."

"Well, at this stage they actually have fingers and toes. I could-"

"No," she interrupted. Suddenly she realized she was being rude. Ruder than usual. She reeled herself in. "Sorry. I left my son with that woman I was with last time, and she already has two kids, and she's pregnant, too, so I have to get back to them before something blows up." She backed toward the door, giving him a thumbs up. "Good talk, though. Thanks. Sorry."

She waited at the front desk for the images, waving at Fletcher as she departed. He was standing near the back, watching her, unmistakably curious. She was curious, too. Being in that office made her anxious, but she didn't know why.

When she made it back to the Grey household, she found them all curled up on the couch watching a kids' movie. Meredith was a bit bigger, so it took her more time to navigate getting off of the couch. She joined Cristina in the kitchen, sipping a bottle of water obsessively.

"So, I got like fifty calls from Owen."

Cristina sunk into the nearest chair. "What did he say?"

"I didn't answer. I thought he might be calling to complain."

"He's locked in our bathroom. Unless he managed to break out. In that case we need a new bathroom door." Cristina snagged the water bottle and took a sip. "He can be dramatic."

"Men," Meredith agreed.

Silence.

"So why did you lock him in the bathroom?"

"He was all anxious and moody. He needed a time out."

"Sounds reasonable enough."

"I'm kind of regretting not selling his old truck, though," Cristina said, pausing to listen to tires coming down the driveway.

Meredith turned, looking through the window. "Just start crying. Works every time."

Cristina sighed, hauling herself back out of the chair. "If I'm not back in five minutes, come out and hit him with a frying pan. We'll go down Thelma and Louise style."

"Righteous," Meredith said, nodding.

Cristina went outside, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch on her way. She wrapped it around her shoulders and leaned against the front door. Owen's truck jerked to a stop near the Durango and he got out in a huff, slamming his door shut. He looked more than a little miffed.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he demanded.

"The truck? Or the road? You gotta be more specific."

He stopped on the steps. "Don't be a smartass."

"I can't help it." She groaned at his serious expression. "Okay, fine. Sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Sorry I locked you in the bathroom."

"You can't just… Cristina, you can't…" He took a deep breath, throwing his hands up. "_Why_ did you do it? Did you go to your appointment? Where is Collin?"

"I don't know. Yes, I went. Collin is inside."

He approached, taking in her appearance. His expression softened significantly. He ran one hand down her arm, catching her elbow with his fingers. His eyes ventured where they always did – to her watermelon – and he sighed, losing the steam he had started with.

"Did you find out?"

She twisted her lips. Somehow she hadn't been excited until now. Gender didn't mean much to her until it came to sharing that news with Owen. "Well, Baby A is a girl, and Baby B is a boy."

He smiled, suddenly youthful.

"Dr. Fletcher said nothing bad showed up in the bloodwork, but they're fraternal, not identical."

"I don't care," Owen said. He frowned. "I mean, I care. But I don't care. I mean I don't care what they are. I'm just glad they're healthy. How do you feel? Are you tired? Hungry? It's freezing out here. Let's go inside. Maybe we should pick out our house now, so you'll have more room to move around. They're growing so fast."

Cristina was enthralled by him. She listened, smiling, to his babbling, and when he finally took a breath, she leaned up to kiss him. She followed him inside, realizing that true love – their kind of love – meant you could lock someone in a bathroom for hours and be forgiven instantly. She loved him for that, for his lack of judgement, for his enthusiasm.

"Oh, and I dinged your car on a pole at the doctor's office. Sorry."

He barely flinched. "It's _our_ car."

"Right. Well _our_ car has a ding in it. You should get on that."

"I'll do that right after we go buy a new bathroom door."


	47. Before

**Before.**

**October 31, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was almost time. Cristina sat on the couch, lying against the armrest, one leg stretched across the cushions and the other propped on the coffee table. Her belly was a useful place to rest her cereal bowl while she munched, so her hands were free to constantly text Alex. He was waiting for Jo to get out of the shower, and he was very easy to provoke. She teased him about his hair, which he'd been growing out a little too much, and he kept finding creative ways to call her fat. It kept her entertained while she waited for the party to start.

Meredith swept across the living room, waddling with a big bowl of candy in her arms. She placed it on the hallway table, balancing it precariously on the edge, and smiled to herself, satisfied.

"Somebody is gonna knock that candy down," Cristina said dryly.

Meredith looked over. "Bite your tongue!"

"Candy everywhere. Candy catastrophe."

One of the goody bags flew across the room and whacked Cristina in the head. She started unwrapping it, shrugging. "Free candy. See? Your violence doesn't faze me."

"You're gonna have to share the couch," Meredith huffed.

Cristina shifted, only taking up one cushion now. It never felt right to sit up with her stomach taking up so much space. It was like she was bearing down on her bladder, and if it wasn't her bladder it was her hip bone, and if it was neither of those, one of the babies became irritated and started kicking her. Something always went crazy in there.

"Okay, while we wait, I have a few more names picked out," Meredith said, losing her attitude and bouncing over to Cristina. She sunk down beside her, cringing, and unfolded a piece of paper. "What do you think of Elizabeth and Shelly?"

"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

Meredith frowned. "Those are good names."

"Elizabeth is too normal. And _Shelly_? Really?"

She moved further down the list. "Uh, okay, what about Dana and Sandra?"

"I don't know, Mer. I'm not feeling it."

Meredith bit her lip. "I was thinking about… maybe naming one of them after Lexie. She would have been a good aunt. Zola loved her."

Cristina hated bringing up their dead friends, but she nodded anyway. "Okay, so Baby A can be Lexie. What about Baby B?"

"Well if I'm naming them after people I lost… I would say Ellen."

"Are you sure you want to be reminded of them every day?"

"It won't just be a reminder," Meredith said, though she held herself like she was recalling the darkness of those losses again. She looked at the floor, and then sighed. "It would… it would be an extension. A tribute. My daughters' names would honor their memories."

"If you say so."

Meredith struggled to stand, balling the list up and tossing it in the general direction of the kitchen. She held out her hand, helping Cristina stand as well, and then she glanced at the hall. "Maybe it's a little too quiet down there. Do you think someone was murdered?"

"I hope it wasn't Owen. He still hasn't fixed the bathroom door."

"Should we… check on him?"

"Nah. He can handle it. Remember, he said he could watch three kids in his sleep."

"Oh, yeah. That kind of made me want to see him fail," Meredith remarked.

Within the hour, Alex and Jo arrived in a little black Cadillac. Cristina had seen him at work, though she spent reduced hours in the operating room because of the extra weight she was carrying, so she was used to his curly afro-in-the-making, but it still made her giggle when he came up the driveway. He glared at her. Jo only rolled her eyes, perhaps tired of arguing with him about his appearance. She was stunning herself, finally evolved from the doe-eyed intern who had begun her career with Shane. She actually looked like a doctor now, even in normal clothing.

"Oh, candy," Alex chirped, stealing the bowl on the way in. Meredith object, slapping him in the back, and he recoiled. "Why did you put it out if you don't want us to have it?"

"It's show candy. It's for show. You may take one piece, and then keep your little mitts off of it."

Cristina nodded, crossing her arms. "Respect the belly, bro."

"I'll be glad when you guys stop with the mood swings," he muttered, taking one piece of candy, wiggling it in front of Meredith, and then heading into the kitchen.

Jo lingered, gazing at Meredith's stomach. "Wow. Do you mind if I…?"

"Go ahead," Meredith said, snapping right out of her wicked mood. She waited patiently while Jo placed her hands on her belly, and then smiled when the younger woman gasped in surprise. "Yeah, they're pretty hyper today. I had like seven of those candy bars."

Jo stood straight, glancing at Cristina.

"Don't even think about it," Cristina said.

Jo smirked. "I wasn't. I know you don't being touched."

"So have you guys set a date yet, or…?" Meredith wondered, drawing the resident's attention again. She took another candy bar, unwrapping it delicately and handing the trash to Cristina.

With a sidelong look across the house, to the man who was shoving a candy bar in his face while fending off a hungry toddler, Jo smiled. It was the kind of smile that reminded Cristina of how long those two had been together. It took a special kind of person to tolerate Alex, to love Alex, and Jo was that person. Cristina was actually rooting for them.

"Hopefully we can get that reservation at the ruritan club for December."

"Our little man is growing up," Cristina said, pretending to wipe a tear away. When she saw him holding part of his candy bar just out of Collin's reach, she grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him. "Hey, Evil Spawn, stop teasing my kid."

He gave Collin the candy, making a face at her. "You better be glad you're pregnant."

"Come see me in April. We'll throw down."

XxX

When the house was finally full, the stories started. Cristina sat with Owen on the couch, running her hand absently over her stomach, while Webber recounted an embarrassing story about Bailey as an intern. She was there with her son, who was almost ten now. It was strange for Cristina, because she had held Tucker when he was a baby, and now he was a lanky little boy. She felt old, just watching him run around with the other kids.

She had no responsibilities that night, aside from behaving. Collin was soaking up attention from the women in the room, flirting his cute little butt off with Sofia, and doing everything in his power to beat little Bailey in a foot race. Meredith got to relax, too, because Zola was engrossed in her best friend Sofia, and the two of them were busy hanging on Tuck's every word. Cristina only watched them, and Meredith slumped beside her, smiling contently, probably only half-listening to what was said. It was nice to be surrounded by these people, these people they had really grown up with, and to know how far they had come since the beginning.

"So she leaves the elevator again, and it turns out she was transporting the wrong patient the whole time!" Webber concluded, busting out a gut laugh and slapping his knee.

Bailey did not look amused. "I have a story I feel compelled to share now."

"I am your boss," Webber pointed out, ending his laughter suddenly to look serious. "Remember that when picking out this story of yours."

It was all laughter and chaos, from the stories, to the horrendous games – failing at bobbing for apples, stabbing each other while trying to pin the tail on the donkey –, to the incredible three-legged race that, somehow, Callie and Arizona managed to win. Everyone was smiling, reminiscing, and scraping up long-dead memories.

Everyone but Meredith.

She left for the back deck while everyone was mingling. Cristina noticed because she had been trailing her all night, leeching off of the endless supply of candy she kept in her pockets. Her heart dropped when she saw her friend leave. She had an idea of what was going on in her mind.

"We can go punch Alex, if that'll make you feel better," Cristina offered, sliding the glass door shut and joining Meredith by the railing. She nudged her. "Whatdya say?"

Meredith smiled a little, but it sunk back into a frown. "Christmas is coming up soon."

She was thinking about him again. It was unavoidable, and Cristina did not blame her. She could only sympathize. She put her hands around her friend's shoulders and sighed with her. "What was he for Halloween last year?"

"Butcher," Meredith responded, a slight smile pulling at her cheeks. "He thought he was being ironic. It was adorable."

"Last Halloween I was trying to come up with a treatment plan for John Baxter… and the one before that, I was mourning one of my patients." Cristina shifted, leaning against the railing. The cold felt good on her lower back. "I think I spent last Christmas underground."

"We have crappy holidays," Meredith said quietly. "It's in our nature."

"I'm sorry you lost him," Cristina murmured, rubbing her hands up and down her friend's arms. She was going to freeze out here. "I know it can never… get better… but you have me. You have me and Owen, and Collin, and your kids. And you have those little girls."

"Sometimes I just miss him." Meredith put her hand over her face, wiping away a few tears. She was very reluctant to cry. Both of them were tired of that. "Sometimes I miss him and it doesn't matter what else I have. I just want _him_."

Cristina stayed with her, fending off anyone who got curious and decided to join them. When her friend had pulled herself together, she escorted her back inside and sat with her, putting a blanket over her shoulders. She unwrapped a candy bar and handed it over, watching, amused, as Meredith nibbled on it. She was like a little squirrel.

Slowly, the party emptied, until only a few remained. Alex was sitting in the recliner, his fiancé half-asleep against his shoulder, and Cristina, Meredith, and Owen were sitting on the couch. The swing of it all faded, and they were left to quietly remember their lives together.

"First day in the hospital," Alex said, trailing his fingers absently up and down Jo's arm. He pointed at Cristina, laughing, "You were losing your mind."

"Excuse you," Meredith cut in. "I remember you misdiagnosing someone right off the bat."

"I was a little cocky."

"Just a _little_?" Cristina demanded.

"At least I didn't sleep with my boss before day one even started."

Meredith laughed, putting her hand over her mouth. "I think that was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I mean, I wake up next to this strange guy, and I say goodbye – awkwardly, mind you – and then he's there at my workplace, on my first day of work, as my boss."

"Hey, I did worse than that in college," Cristina pointed out.

"What is it you guys called him?" Alex wondered.

"McDreamy," Meredith supplied effortlessly. She was smiling, a powerful warmth in her words. "It was fitting. God, we were complicated."

"And then McSteamy came along," Cristina said. "And McVet."

"Oh, don't remind me," Meredith groaned.

"I'm just surprised neither of you ended up banging me. I mean, you banged everybody else in the hospital." Alex readjusted, huffing. "Kind of hypocritical."

Jo pinched his collar, glaring at him.

"What? It's true. If you had met them as interns you would understand."

Owen shook his head. "Pinch him again."

"Do you remember how competitive we were?" Meredith said, shifting a little to rest her head on Cristina's shoulder. She sighed, content for the moment. "Before everything, you know."

Cristina stretched out. "You mean before our plane crashed?"

"Before everything," Meredith repeated. "Before the storm, before the shooting, before the bomb, before the freaking ferry crashed – before Denny and Izzie and before George died." She frowned, her eyes watering before she managed to control her emotions. She stared at the ceiling. "Sometimes it would be nice to just… to be able to remember those days, when our biggest problems were getting to scrub in for surgeries and worrying about _boys_."

Cristina yawned. "I think you're forgetting all the times those days really sucked. We have more control now. We're the freaking bosses. I mean, we tell lowly interns what to do. We schedule our own surgeries. And we do still worry about boys. I mean, Collin and Bailey are obviously plotting our demise. And Alex. Look at his hair. Look at his big old Jew-fro."

"Hey," Alex objected.

"I can say that, I'm Jewish," Cristina pointed out, pointing at him, and then resting her arm across Owen's thigh. She gazed up at him. "Retrieve the small one. We have to go home."

Meredith tried to get up, but quickly gave in, relaxing in the space that Cristina left behind. She stretched until her belly showed under her shirt. "Ugh. You're right. My babies have to go to school in the morning. And I have surgery. Stupid surgery."

"I drank most of the punch, so you're driving," Alex said to Jo, plucking his keys from his pocket and handing them over. He smiled goofily at her. "_Love_ you."

"You smell like lime juice," she complained, wiggling out of his hold and dragging him up by his hand. She steadied him, waving at the others. "Bye guys. It was fun."

Cristina went to the window to watch Jo help Alex balance to the car, amused when he fell down in the driveway. He deserved it. Owen followed her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then he disappeared down the hall to retrieve the small one. It was a dangerous task, should the little one realize he was being moved.

Cristina helped Meredith off of the couch, following her into the hallway. She started admiring her candy bowl again.

"Derek bought this bowl," Meredith said, reaching out to run her finger along the edge. She smiled, and for the first time she didn't seem sad when she spoke of him. "He bought it last Halloween. It was fifty dollars. I told him to return it. He refused. So we kept it. See the spider webs in the glass? Bailey knocked it off the table and it just warped like that. I guess fifty dollar glass bowls don't shatter. Derek was so proud of himself."

Cristina nodded, pulling the door open so Owen could pass through with their sleeping toddler. He smiled at her as he went, readjusting Collin in his arms.

Meredith watched them go, her smile turning a bit darker. "I know you know this already, but I just have to say it. Be careful. I can't lose you. I can't lose you, or Owen, or Alex, or anyone. I just… please be careful."

Cristina hugged her, though it was awkward when their stomachs met. They smiled at each other, and Cristina snatched another candy bar. "We're invincible, remember? I'm gonna live forever."

She stepped outside, heading down the steps. When she looked back at Meredith, her friend was frowning at her. She responded softly to her words. "Nobody lives forever." And then she closed her door. Cristina heard the locks turning inside.

Cristina paused, debating whether or not she should go back. Owen shut Collin into the car and came over to her, also looking at the door. "Everything okay?"

She shook her head. "Uh, yeah. I guess."

Her eyes remained on the house as they headed down the driveway, and she wished she could take away the anxiety, the uncertainty, that Meredith felt. Perhaps she was right about going back to the old days. Perhaps their lives really had been better before. Perhaps their immaturity, their relative innocence, was a blessing in disguise.


	48. Limits

**Limits.**

**December 28, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was sundown, and the frigid air became even colder as the last tendrils of sunlight swept across the park. It all looked like a fireplace painting – a massive, open field, abandoned playground equipment, a parking lot with only one car slanted across the middle spaces, a thin layer of frost on every blade of grass. She had a hard time blocking out the symbolism of this place. It was like she was at a party, and everybody who understood her was in attendance. Her guest list had a total of one line, and the name was written in crayon. Her little monster, the only person who still thought she was a functional human being, was running out ahead of her.

She came here for the tranquility, but in the back of her mind there was another reason. She came here because Owen didn't want her here. She was feeling a little rebellious.

Her son was heading for the cycling road just as her phone rang. She answered, squashing it between her shoulder and ear, and yelled at Collin. "Get out of the road, you psycho!"

Owen was the one who had called. "Is Collin in the road? Where are you?"

He sounded appropriately anxious. She went with nonchalance. "He's not _in_ the road, he's near it." He veered toward a bird bath, trying his damndest to topple it. "Collin! I will sell you to the circus I swear to God!" She waited, glaring at him, until he decided to occupy himself with the frost on the grass. "So what's up, buttercup?"

"I, uh, got home from work and you weren't here. I was just wondering where you were."

"We're at the park. I left a note."

"Not that I saw."

"I may have forgotten to leave a note."

"You could have texted me. Who drove you?"

"I drove myself. I'm not an invalid. I still know how to drive."

"I know you do," he responded, lowering his voice in that annoying, placating tone he had developed over the last few weeks. She was really thinking about punching him in the throat. "But you know your stomach gets in the way."

She switched ears, pursuing her son through a low ditch. "You worry too much. I just slide the seat all the way back. I can still sort of reach the pedals."

"Cristina…"

"I was being safe. Relax. Jeez. I'm an adult. I know my limits."

Within moments of her saying that, like a calling from the universe, she tried to take a particularly steep part of the hill in her worn flat shoes and landed on her butt, rolling like a sad piñata into the cold water standing at the bottom. She flopped around, keeping her phone above the water, and tried unsuccessfully to get back to her feet. She couldn't even crawl out. She just slid back down the wet grass.

Owen was shouting at her through the phone. She sat on the edge, sort of out of the water, and spoke to him again. "Okay. I hear you. I might be stuck."

She heard a door slam in the background. "Where are you? Which park?"

"Duck park," she responded. Collin was trying to slide down to her. She waved him off. "No, no. Stay up there." He hit his bottom and came down to her side, giggling. She groaned. "And now we're both wet. Great teamwork."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Hang on."

She hummed while she waited, giving up on her escape attempts. Her stomach made it impossible to do much. She was carrying around extra weight and she was severely off-balance. She would probably just end up breaking something. She started trembling within a few minutes, the muscles in her thighs jittering out of control. Collin crawled back up to the top, whining.

"Well, you wouldn't be cold if you listened," she snapped at him, her teeth chattering. "We need to stop proving Owen right. This just encourages him. He'll never shut up now."

Collin held his arms out, his lip quivering.

"Oh get over it. I'm the one stuck in the water. At least you get to sit up there." She tried to readjust, to find a more comfortable position so one of her tiny spawn would stop bruising her hip bone, but she just ended up sliding further into the water. It was freezing.

Finally she heard Owen shouting. He came across the bridge, about a half mile down, and approached along the edge. He picked up Collin first, inspecting him, and then he saw her at the bottom. His expression was somewhere between frustration and concern. He slid down the slope, straddling the water and holding out his hand.

"Did you stop for a burrito or something?" Cristina complained, grunting as she stood. A chilly wind hit her and she shuddered.

Owen said nothing. He wrapped one arm under her legs and lifted her up, setting her at the top, where Collin promptly wrapped his arms around her neck. When Owen reemerged, he took a knee beside her and pressed his fingers to her wrist, taking her radial pulse.

"You scared the shit out of me," he said, shaking his head. "You have to stay home. It's dangerous for you to go out alone like this."

She pulled her wrist away, trying unsuccessfully to get up on her own. "So what do you want me to do, exactly? John's surgery isn't until next Thursday. You won't let me go in and work like a normal person. Do you want me to fuse with the couch and watch soap operas all day?"

She finally got a foot under her, stumbling to her feet. Owen tried to steady her, but she pulled away from him again. He was becoming angry. "I don't want-"

"Right," she cut in. "I tried that already. I remember that pissing you off, too."

"I'm not _pissed off,_ I'm worried," he objected.

"Seriously, what do you want from me?"

He shrugged, holding his hands out like he was surrendering. Collin, realizing he was getting nowhere trying to suck up to Cristina, went over to Owen and asked to be held. Owen obliged, rubbing the little boy's back. "We need to get home," he said. "Collin is freezing."

Cristina followed him to his SUV, which was parked right beside her car, and watched him strap her son in. He had the heat blasting inside. She waited outside her door, crossing her arms. She blew a heavy breath from her nose.

Owen was watching her. He approached from the front. "What? Are you pouting now?"

She looked away.

"What were you thinking trying to cross that ditch, anyway? Have you met you? You couldn't cross that if you weren't pregnant!"

"I get it, Owen. I'm stupid. I make bad decisions. Can you just stop talking?"

"No, not until you get it in your head. You're endangering the lives of our children. Last week you fell trying to walk to Meredith's house-"

"Okay, that curb came out of nowhere!"

"Her house is miles away! What kind of idiot tries to walk that while _pregnant_?"

"You took the SUV and the car was out of gas!"

He shook his head, obviously furious, but reluctant to express it to her. She saw a lot of that bottled frustration lately. He pulled her door open. "Get in. You're going home."

"_You're going home_," Cristina mocked, glaring at the seat. It was enticingly warm inside, but she was too angry to cooperate. "I have to drive the car home."

"I'll come back for it later."

"I'll do it now," she barked back, turning and heading for her own car.

Owen followed her. "I'm coming back for it later."

She yanked the keys out of her pocket. "I'm getting it now."

He grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. She tried to pull away, but he had a powerful grip. Stupid surgeon hands. She turned to glare at him, finding a scowl to meet it.

It stayed that way for a few precious seconds. Owen was practically blowing steam out of his ears and she was seriously thinking about saying something she couldn't take back. It was right on the edge of her tongue, threatening to bubble over.

"Look at you. You're shaking." Owen spoke in a muted way. He released her arm, but place his hand on her shoulder. "Collin wants you at home, and he needs warm clothes. Come with me."

She hated it when he used Collin against her. She could see the munchkin in question staring at her anxiously through the front window, having escaped his car seat. He looked like he was ready to cry. She felt awful. She threw her keys at Owen's chest and went to her seat, plucking Collin up and letting him sit on her thighs.

Owen got in the driver's side, barely looking in her direction.

She slid her son's shirt off, so the heat from the vent could hit his bare skin. He rested his head on her stomach. Owen didn't both protesting his lack of proper safety restraints, and Cristina was too cold to be concerned about it.

XxX

When she was in dry clothes again, she joined Owen on the couch, sitting relatively close for how fired up they had been only minutes ago. He was flipping mindlessly through channels, occasionally pausing on something sports-related. She barely looked at his face. She was irritated with him. His display at the park had proved to her what she had suspected for several weeks now – he was becoming possessive. He wanted her right here, locked up in their tiny trailer. He wanted her to be there when he left for work, and to be there when he got back. If she wasn't, he got anxious, and then they fought. Every single day, they fought.

He tried to talk to her, only looking over and opening his mouth, and Cristina attempted to get off of the couch. He watched her struggle, not offering to help, one eyebrow cocked. "Trying to storm off?"

"Shut up," she grunted, sinking back down and sulking. She slid away from him instead, sighing heavily. "Can't you just go somewhere? Don't you have friends or something?"

"We could go to my mom's."

"_You_. I want _you_ to go. You're suffocating me."

He frowned. "That's not what you said last night. I remember you begging-"

"Hush," she snapped.

"I'm afraid to leave you alone. I mean, what if you decide you want to take up kickboxing? You tried a little hiking this morning, almost froze to death. What's a little combat?"

"I didn't almost freeze to death."

"What if I had been at work? What if your phone had fallen in the water? What if nobody came back to that park to help you?"

She looked away, having nothing to say to that. He was sort of right. She hated it when he was right. He was such a gloater.

"So you're just gonna pout the rest of the night?"

She shrugged.

He laughed. "I still love you."

She was silent.

He poked her arm, sliding closer to her. "Cristina."

"I love you, too," she grumbled.

He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her into his side. He was warm, and he smelled wonderful, like he had been rolling in fields of soap all day. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, cupping her face with one hand. She turned toward him, intending to glare at him until he decided to back off, but she ended up kissing him.

She pulled away suddenly, planting a hand firmly on his shoulder to keep him from swooping in for another kiss. "I'm not helpless," she stated.

He kept his eyes in hers, nodded. "I know that."

"So stop hovering."

"It's in my nature."

"Well, stop it. Or this can't happen."

He frowned. "What?"

"This." She motioned between them, leaning away. "I'm not gonna kiss you or be nice to you when you're being an asshole."

"I'm not being an asshole, I'm-"

"Right, right, protective, blah. Whatever. If you're gonna be like that, I'm gonna be like this. Get used to it."

He sighed heavily, leaning back. He retracted his arm. "Okay. Fine. I'm not going to stop."

"Me neither," she responded shortly.

"Whatever."

"Fine."

She sat in silence for a while, glaring at the television. She had no idea what they were watching, but it was sufficiently boring to make her fiancé groan. He tried to reach for the remote and she slapped his hand. He smiled a little, obviously amused by her mood, but he didn't push the issue. He just sat there, occasionally reaching over to rub her arm, to rest his hand on her thigh, and said nothing until Collin got up from his nap. He left her to play with her son, beginning a rousing game of hide-and-seek with his action figures. He was a weird kid. They both were.

Cristina eventually dropped her glare. It was too much work to keep it up. She smiled at her son when he ran through the room, and listened to him babble about superheroes – although at his age most of what he said just added up to miscellaneous sounds and giggles.

Owen emerged from the back room around dinnertime. Cristina scowled at him, but he returned an impossibly adorable smile, provoking a laugh from her.

He crouched down by her knees, giving her a dramatic surprised expression. "Oh, wow, what was that? I haven't heard that all day."

"Shut up."

He rested his chin in her knee, placing one hand over hers. "How about we go to my mom's for dinner? I can make spaghetti and meatballs."

She slid sideways, leaning heavily on the arm of the couch. He tilted his head, smiling, and drew her hand up to his lips. "I'm trying to be mad at you," she said, halfheartedly trying to pull her hand away. She returned his smile. "Will you stop that?"

"Can we forget about it for a few hours?" he wondered. He yanked her coat from the back of the couch, holding it out to her. His eyes were sparkling. "Can we forget how wound up we've been and just have a good time tonight? Mom invited us over. She's been texting me nonstop. She got Collin something else for Christmas."

"Did she get me anything?"

He grinned. "No."

"Then I don't see why I should go."

He leaned over her, kissing her forehead, her nose, and then her lips. His fingers danced along her side and she recoiled, snorting.

"Stop! I'm gonna pee!" she objected.

"Either we stay here and I tickle you, or we go to my mom's and I cook us dinner."

She squirmed away from him, but her stomach prevented her from escaping. She threw his hand away, gasping, and brought a knee up when he tried to start up again. "Okay, okay. Jeez. Get the kid, you barbarian."

He lunged again and she giggled. His smile was disarming. "That's what I thought."

He stood up, but she grabbed his arm. "Wait. Help me get up."

Owen took that as an invitation, hauling her off of the couch and drawing her close to him. He captured her face in his hands. He kissed her like he had the first time they'd met – urgent, passionate, rough – and then stepped back and gazed at her like he hadn't seen her in years.

"What?" she demanded.

He ruined the moment, but he did it perfectly.

"You kind of look like Rosie O'Donnell right now."

"Yep. Okay. I'm gonna strangle you."


	49. Critical

**Critical.**

**December 28, 2016.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He pressed the hair on the back of his head flat, just to have something to do with his hands. He was no longer allowed to worry, according to his lover. He just had to sit here, not thinking about the future, and let the smell of spaghetti sauce carry him to another place.

"I told you I would cook," Owen repeated. His mother was bouncing around the kitchen, just like she had done when he was a little boy. She still had that spring in her step, like thirty years was just a few weekends ago. Owen wanted to take over anyway. He was wired and he needed something to do. He was going crazy, just sitting at the table.

She glanced at him, frowning. "You look exhausted. Let me be a mom, okay?"

"I'm fine," he grumbled.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Sure you are. I see right through you. You're worried sick about your kids, about your wife, and if you keep it up you'll end up right back where you started."

He resisted the urge to snap at her. It would only prove her right. He just let his head sink to the warm wood. He knew she was being supportive in her own way, just like all those nights she's sat up with him when the nightmares kept him awake, when therapy was so intense that he had to avoid the love of his life for fear of hurting her. Cristina had seen bits and pieces of him in his darkest days, but his mother had lived through the brunt of it, and she was unflinching.

She was watching him now, thoughtful, nibbling on the end of her wooden spoon. "Sweetheart, did you know I bought a motorcycle when I was pregnant?"

He sat up. "What? No."

"I was feeling a little cramped because your father was so overbearing. He thought I was a dainty little thing." She slid into the seat across from him, looking wistfully toward the window. "So I bought a motorcycle, thinking 'I'll show him.' It was a beautiful bike. I had no idea how to drive it because I was nineteen and my parents never let me near one, but I was bound and determined I was going to prove him wrong. I tried to drive it home, hit a curb and went flying into the bushes. Took a good chunk of skin off of my leg."

Owen glanced toward the living room, making sure his lover wasn't missing. She was still curled up on the couch with Collin, listening to him tell her about the new cars his grandma had gotten for him. She met his eyes briefly, smiling, and he returned it.

His mother laughed. "My point is Cristina is a lot like me." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Keep trying to corral her, and she'll start rebelling."

"Cristina is not a nineteen-year-old girl," he pointed out.

"But you're treating her like one."

He sat back, shaking his head. "I'm not. I just want her to be safe. She still thinks she can do everything she did while she wasn't pregnant, but it's just not possible."

"She's not stupid."

"Do you want me to repeat what happened this morning?"

She got up, stirring her sauce and talking over her shoulder. "Well, she's always welcome here, and so is that precious little boy. You lucked into him, Owen. Oh, and didn't you say Teddy was coming to Seattle? You should invite her over."

Owen groaned. "She's just coming to assist with the surgery. She won't be here more than a day."

"Well, she can come here before, or after. Whenever."

He slid his chair back, joining her by the burners. He leaned against the counter, folding his arms and gazing out the window. The return of his comrade was also a point of anxiety for him. He was already so deep in the throes of who he used to be, and now she was coming to Seattle to help Cristina perform a landmark surgery. Cristina was so excited.

"If you don't want her here, it's okay," his mother said, misinterpreting his silence. She placed her hand on his arm. "I just wanted to meet her, finally."

"It's not that." He looked down at the bubbling sauce, and for the first time in a long time he was reminded of a chest wound sucking up sand in the desert. "I just haven't seen her in a while."

He continued looking at the sauce, at the gobs of red riding above fragments of meat, and another memory struck him. His friend, his ally, lying in the ruins of an Iraqi village. He was not a survivor. Owen should have been focusing on the wounded people screaming from the medical barricade, but he was fixated on Jackson. He was in pieces, torn in half, missing a few extremities. His insides were charred, barely recognizable. And small black pieces were embedded in his face, contrasting with the red circles where his skin had blistered. He had been in the sun for months trying to protect these people. Now he was a pile of intestines.

His mother stirred him, putting her hand high on his shoulder. She was frowning. "Where did you go just now?"

He shrugged her off, returning to his chair to put his head down. He felt a little woozy. "Can we just talk about your day? How was your day?"

She seemed uncertain. "Owen…"

"I'm fine, mom. Just… just please talk about something else."

XxX

Her phone rang around eight. She glanced at the kitchen, but her fiancé was nowhere in sight. Collin was still talking about his new cars – twelve fancy plastic hotrods, courtesy of Evelyn – and he was oblivious to the world. She wasn't even sure he was using real words now. He drifted between baby babble, the word 'car,' and a barrage of colors and numbers. Cristina hauled herself from the couch to answer the call, scooping her minion up in one arm and going to the front porch with him. It was chilly out, but she had a sweater on, and the porch swing had a blanket draped over it. She wrapped up and fell backward into the swing, only momentarily concerned when it groaned under her weight. Collin snuggled into her side, running one of his cars from her shoulder to her breast and making engine sounds.

"Baby momma extraordinaire, how may I help you?"

She heard laughter, and then a very familiar voice. "I like that one. You should definitely stick with it. It's way classier than the last two."

"You think? I don't know. I think I liked the first one."

Cristina could not help a smile. She had spoken to Teddy dozens of times in the preceding weeks, and they had exchanged thousands of texts, files, and charts related to John Baxter. When first designing the surgery Cristina had imagined Phyllis would assist her, but circumstances changed. Teddy knew all about that. Cristina had gushed to her like an open wound.

"I was just calling to let you know that my approval went through and I booked my ride out of the Pacific. I should be stateside on the third, and I'll be in Seattle by eleven."

"I thought you were in the Atlantic."

"We just passed through the canal. If you ever get the chance, you should really come down and see it. It really is an amazing feat of engineering."

"Right. I'll put that on my list. It's going right after participating in another shooting."

"I'm just trying to culture you."

"I'm not bacteria. I don't need culturing."

Teddy laughed. "Clever. Glad to hear pregnancy hasn't slowed you down."

"Physically, maybe. Mentally, no way."

"I know the feeling. When I was six months pregnant with Charlie, I swear it was like walking around with a big bowl of water strapped to my chest."

Cristina drew up a memory of the family photo Teddy had sent her. It was her, a floppy-haired Australian man, and a one-year-old boy with his mother's face. She looked so happy in it. "How is he, anyway? And Drew? What's his name?"

"Charlie is great. He finally started walking. And _Dante_ is fine, too."

"In my defense, that's a stupid name."

Teddy groaned. "Did I tell you he wanted to name our son Olsen?"

"Divorce him. Divorce him now."

"I was seriously considering it. Anyway, how are you and Owen? Has he stopped the whole 'I am man' routine yet?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. "No. There was an… incident this morning, so he's being more difficult than usual."

"What kind of incident?"

"It was nothing."

"I'm getting the vibe that it wasn't nothing, but I won't push it." She paused and a door closed in the background. "How is our patient? Is he in Seattle yet?"

"He gets here on the first. His parents have already signed everything for the surgery."

"I'm confident in your plan. You really put the work into this one."

Cristina hummed her agreement. She remembered her first motivation for taking on this surgery, way back in the day when she was sitting on Phyllis' couch. Phyllis had been so insistent because of her son's dreadful death, so sure that giving this kid any sort of chance, even if it killed him, was better than letting him deteriorate. Cristina agreed on some level, but now her memory of that day was tainted. She had come so far. Collin had come so far.

"Well, my son is sobbing on the kitchen floor. I should probably go check on him."

Cristina frowned at her phone. Honestly, she had no problem talking to Teddy all night, even if it meant she would lose her nose to frostbite. Teddy was easy. Teddy was happy. She was her former mentor, and her friend, and she was one of the only surgeons Cristina really trusted.

She slid off of the porch, hoisting Collin up on her hip and throwing the blanket back down. "Okay, yeah, sure. Call me if you have any questions about the diagrams I sent you."

"I will. Goodnight."

"Night."

It was quiet again. Cristina lingered outside for a few moments, breathing in the cold air. Owen hated it when she stayed outside, but she thought the cold was refreshing. It cleared her head. She had gotten so accustomed to it in Switzerland that she expected it now. She thrived in it.

When she went back inside, Owen was leaning against the archway that led into the kitchen. He smiled, unsure, and held out his arms for Collin.

"Teddy called," Cristina explained, passing the baby to him. She squeezed by them into the kitchen, plopping into the closest chair. The smell of spaghetti was intoxicating.

Owen joined her, sitting on the adjacent side of the table with Collin in his lap. He looked uncertain and anxious. "Mom cooked. I can't guarantee the quality."

Evelyn whacked him in the head with a potholder as she passed by. She placed a big pot of spaghetti in the center of the table, took a seat across from Cristina, and divvied out plates. Cristina sensed tension between them, so she kept quiet.

"Were you talking about that little boy you're operating on?" Evelyn asked.

Cristina cleared her throat, watching Owen. "Uh, yeah. John Baxter. His heart is severely malformed and undersized. Patients like him usually survive for twenty years, maybe more, but their function slowly deteriorates. We're going to try to… grow him a better heart."

"So you're transplanting?"

"No. His health problems prevent him from being a candidate for transplant. His whole body suffers from his heart, and his cardiovascular system is just strings and paperclips." Cristina sat back, wondering how much she could really say to Evelyn.

Evelyn seemed interested, though. She spun spaghetti on her fork and nodded. "So what you're doing will save him?"

"No," Cristina responded softly. "What I'm doing will help him get stronger, to regain some of the functions he's lost. The goal is to get him healthy enough to enter the transplant list as a critical patient. If we can give him the opportunity to get stronger, he can get a new heart."

"I hope everything goes alright." She glanced at Collin, who was slurping a single noodle. "You're dropping him off at six-thirty, right?"

"I'll be dropping him off, and yes," Owen said. His voice betrayed how wound up he was. Cristina wondered what they had been talking about before she came in.

"Hey," Cristina said, putting her hand over his. She used her nice voice. "I was thinking we could bake one of this three-layer cakes when you get off work tomorrow."

He smiled, and though it seemed hard for him, he turned his focus to her. "Oh yeah? Are you sure you can handle it? Last time you forgot about the cake, took a nap, and ended up pouring icing all over a chunk of charcoal."

"Collin liked it."

"He was just licking the icing off," he said, laughing. He leaned over the little boy's shoulder, trying to coax him to eat a few chopped up pieces of spaghetti. "What do you think about that, Collin? Do you want your mom to make another cake?"

Collin looked up, spaghetti sauce making red streaks all over his rosy cheeks, and nodded, flopping a noodle around until it stuck to his nose.

"It's settled then," Cristina said, patting the back of his hand. She snatched the cheese from the middle of the table, pouring at least a quarter of the bottle on her meal. "Tomorrow night, we feast. And then the next morning we all drive to the hospital."

"Sounds about right."

XxX

It was after ten when they got home. Cristina carried Collin inside and Owen set up his little table bed, covering it in stuffed animals and raising the makeshift bar he had installed. It kept Collin from rolling off every night. Cristina went back to the bedroom, stripping, reaching across the bed to pop on their heater, and then sliding to the back. It felt good to finally rest her spine. Carrying around those kids was awful, just like Teddy had described it. They were a big bowl of water, constantly shifting, constantly baring down on her hips, on her organs.

Owen joined her after finishing Collin's little setup. He had a heater, too. It was slightly more powerful than theirs, and it even had a remote so they could cut it off when their little trailer became sweltering. He set the remote on the teeny side table, pulled off his shirt, and slipped into bed, groaning just like she had.

"Longest day of our lives," he commented, turning her way. Moonlight poured in through the windows above them, and it made him look otherworldly.

She shut her eyes, yawning. "Now try it with thirty extra pounds."

He ran his hand down her arm, sliding a little closer. When she opened her eyes, she found his face only inches from hers. He peered at her, a gentle smile on his lips. "I love you," he whispered. "And I'm still not going to stop looking out for you, just so you know."

"I love you, too," she said. "Now go to sleep before I kill you."


	50. Harbinger

**Harbinger.**

**January 4, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina stared down into his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like herself again. She had worked at the hospital when she got home, before her lover insisted she cut her hours and put her feet up at home. She had walked those halls just like she had when she was an intern, her eye catching on new posters, her ears sharp for new voices. It had felt strange, like she was an alien, and all of these people, these foreign people, were perfectly normal. It was not until this moment, until she cracked open the chest of the little boy she'd first met in Switzerland, that she really felt like she was herself again. She was not trapped in some awful sinkhole. She was not watching her friend commit suicide. She was not helping a little boy through rehabilitation. She was not prepping the bodies of the countless children who had died from complications of her trial. She was not that person, that harbinger of death, that woman who had traveled to another continent to live out her dreams. She was just herself again. She just Cristina.

But she was slightly more now. She stood in the shoes of the people who had taught her. She was the master now. She knew more than she ever imagined she would, more than she ever dared to hope. Even then, even with several years of knowledge and the admiration of her peers, she still felt like an intern. She stared down at this chest, at this deformed heart thumping unevenly within this tiny ribcage, sort of squashed by lumpy lungs, and she felt like a baby surgeon again.

"Worse than I thought it would be," Teddy commented. Her voice was dry and confident, but her eyes betrayed her nervousness. "Are you ready to begin, Dr. Yang?"

Cristina nodded, though she was feeling less certain about this surgery than she had ten minutes ago, before his insides were on display. It was an awful sight. "Get the tubes ready and prepare the heart-lung machine. I want to minimize the shutdown time. Dr. Altman, prepare to redirect the blood flow. I want everybody on their toes."

He was ten years old, but his heart was remnant of the heart of an underdeveloped fetus. It was a larger version, more functional to have gotten him so far, but it was going to fail in the coming years. It could have gone at any moment during his life. He had been lucky so far. Burke had written a sort of case study about the boy, though his life had taken a different road, and he was unable to finish it. The last thing Cristina had read, the last thing Burke had written, told her what she should expect to find today. It was close, but John was resilient. He was growing. His valves were a little stronger. His tissue was healthier, more oxygenated.

She had a good chance of helping him.

She worked in silence, ignoring Teddy's attempts to start up a conversation. Her mind narrowed down to a pinpoint. Save this boy. Save this one. She could hear Phyllis in her head, like their conversation about this little boy had been only yesterday, not a year ago. _He will spend years wasting away in a hospital bed, until he wants to die, until he has no hope, and until his parents are bankrupt and their lives are ruined. If you can correct the defect now, before it starts destroying his function, you can give him a lifetime._

It was time to stop. His vitals started sinking. He gradually lost his stability. Cristina stared at the monitor, willing it to give her more time with his deformed heart, but it denied her.

"Prepare to redirect," Cristina said, glancing at Teddy. Her colleague had a serious shade to her eyes. She worked quickly, effortlessly, and still managed to keep an eye on Cristina. "I'm switching him in three… two… one."

She massaged his heart, waiting, breathless, for the rhythm to pick up. It had a few tweaks to it, part of a long-term adjustment plan she had worked out for him, and these were the smallest, the simplest. If he could not survive this, he had no hope of surviving the future surgeries. Everything hinged on this moment – this moment, with a flat lining monitor and a still heart.

"Come on, sweetie," Cristina murmured. "Get the paddles."

She pressed them to either side of his heart, one more toward the trunk, one more toward the apex, and cleared her team. His heart jumped. It was just a pile of muscle right now. It shivered a bit, reacting to the electricity, but it did not start beating.

Suddenly it was very important that he live. She was not particularly attached to him, but she had spent a lot of time looking at his pitiful little heart. She had spent a lot of time thinking about his fate, thinking about what Phyllis wanted for him. She had wanted him to live, desperately, and Cristina had not understood it at the time.

_If you can save him, save him. If you can't, then just… just try to save him anyway._

"Give me something, kid," she pleaded, shocking him again, and then a third time. His heart showed a little response to the third shock. She started the massage again, forcing blood through his narrow veins. Her efforts were becoming frantic. "You can handle it. I know you can."

Finally a low rhythm appeared on the monitor. It was weak, and in most cases it would be cause for more concern, but just seeing that little green line bouncing up and down took her breath away. Life. He was alive. He was going to live. He was going to live, and what she had done today would help him work toward a real future – not a slow deterioration hooked up to countless machines, not a torturous descent into total dependence. He had a chance now.

His vitals climbed until his heartbeat was as strong as it had been. It took on a different pace, but it was better than before.

Teddy released a breath, shaking her head. "John is a tough little guy. Look at that repair…" She glanced at Cristina, smiling through her mask. "I can close. You should go tell his parents."

"I can-"

"No, Cristina, this is all you. You get to tell them."

Cristina headed for the scrub room, removing her gear carefully, one piece at a time. When she came to the sink, prepared to wash her hands one more time before going out to tell two loving parents that their son was going to live, she could only press her hands to the edge and lean over it. She stared into the drain, taking long, deep breaths.

She was tired, and her back ached, and her stomach was big enough to use as a deadly weapon, but she went out anyway. She walked carefully across the surgery waiting room, where his parents had claimed a little corner to themselves. His grandparents were there as well, and some other people Cristina did not recognize.

His mother stood up, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

"John is stable. He came through like a champ." She waited until the sighs of relief, the hugging, and the sobbing had slowed before she continued. "We'll keep him in isolation for a few hours to help him body cope with the stress, and then he'll be moved to the pediatric ICU. From there you can expect at least four weeks."

His mother hugged her, and she hugged back. It was a relief, to see them smiling at last. She accepted a few more hugs before she excused herself. She headed straight for the observation room, smiling a little when she found Alex sitting in the front row.

"I didn't even see you," she admitted.

"You were pretty focused in there," he commented, nodding. He still seemed snarky, the same jerk she had started working with many, many years ago, but he had softer undertones now. He was, admittedly, one of her closest friends.

She sat beside him, straining to keep herself from knocking over the chair. With her stomach so far out, she had a habit of overcompensating.

"So, tiny Yangs," Alex said, reaching over to pat her belly. He twisted his lips. "Never thought I'd see the day. I mean, do you think they come with the horns pre-attached, or is that something they get done at puberty?"

She laughed, but she couldn't grasp a comeback. She had been so tense in the surgery, the words just wouldn't come to her. She spoke her mind instead, letting a passing thought from days ago come back to life. "Alex, I don't think I can have these kids."

His head snapped up. "What? I think it's a little late for that."

"Not like… not like that. I mean, I want them. I just don't think I can physically have them. My mother almost died giving birth to me. I come from a family of tragically narrow birth canals."

"That's not a problem. You'll just get a C-section."

"I want you to do it."

He balked. "Did you read the nametag?"

"You do pediatrics. Well, guess what, I got two new patients for you."

"Cristina, I didn't-"

"You learned from Addison, and Addison is the best vagina doctor I know. So I trust you. You know how to do it, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then do this for me," she said, twisting to stare him down.

He looked like he was about to object again, but that softer Alex came forward. He groaned, slumping down in his chair like an irritated teenager. "It's harder to recover. You get a nasty scar and it takes you weeks to get back into fighting shape."

"I know. It's safer for them. That's all I'm thinking about. I can't lose them."

He watched her for a moment, thoughtful, and then he sighed. "_Fine_. Damn. I guess if anybody's gonna cut you open it should be me. Maybe I can find the root of all evil in there somewhere."

"Thank you." She meant it. She knew that he knew she meant it. She looked back out at the OR, where Teddy had almost finished reassembling a little boy's chest. "I meant to ask you last week – did you and Jo end up signing the papers or…?"

He smiled at that. "Oh. Went a little… sideways. You'll laugh your ass off."

"Good. I need that."


	51. Before the Storm

**Before the Storm.**

**February 15, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"Do you ever get the feeling something really bad is going to happen? I don't mean, like, stubbing your toe or spilling red wine on your fancy new white couch. I mean something really bad. I mean something truly awful. Do you ever just… feel it on the back of your neck? Like things are too good right now. Like a dark cloud will inevitably pass overhead and rain hell down on us?"

It was quiet, and as her words faded, the room took on an eerie calm. Cristina could place every word in the romance movie playing at low volume across from them, and she could hear every breath as her son slumbered alongside Bailey in the nearby chair. It was anything but silent in this house. Those sound were all comforting, part of her daily life. It was what she did not hear, what she could not place, that really bothered her. She had been thinking a lot lately about the dark part of life, and it was beginning to wear on her. She was certain, completely certain, that things could not be going this well. It had to be an illusion.

Meredith took a deep breath, pulling the covers up to her chin. She looked so thin about the face lately, like her kids were literally sucking the life out of her, but she managed a sparkle in her eyes. She was still as lively as ever. "I did stub my toe this morning."

"Exactly. I mean, what if that's only the beginning?"

Her friend cocked an eyebrow. "I think you need to get out of your head and enjoy the real world for a while." She slid a little closer, resting her head on Cristina's shoulder. "Life is okay right now. We have beautiful kids who sometimes behave. We're moderately healthy. We have each other. Just because we're happy doesn't mean something bad is going to happen."

"What have you done with Mer?"

She smiled, laughing. "You'll see. I'm totally right this time. I have to be. We deserve this."

"Whatever you say."

For a few moments, they sat without talking, gazing at the television screen. In the last few days they had watched this movie over a dozen times. It was comforting to know what was going to happen, and it put the boys right to sleep.

"How is Owen?"

Cristina had hoped she would keep that question to herself today. She asked all the time, like Owen was suddenly on the top of her friend list. Cristina shrugged. "Fine."

"Last time I saw him he was sweaty and mad."

"You also thought the blender was an intruder last night."

"It was dark!" Meredith shifted, sighing. "I noticed that little bruise on your arm, by the way."

"I almost fell trying to get out of the trailer. He caught me."

"I don't like it when you make excuses. It's not like you."

"Mer…" She was going to say something mean, just to get her to shut up for a little while, but she realized they were stuck together on this couch. It took an enormous amount of teamwork to get either of them in a standing position. She decided to go with the truth this time. Maybe it was that foreboding feeling telling her to spill her guts. "Owen is… anxious."

Meredith tilted her head, staring at Cristina. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. God, no. He just thinks everything else _will_. I think… sometimes he just stares off into space like he's somewhere else. I think his PTSD is coming back. I think it never left. This is triggering him, every day. I don't know how to help him."

"Did you suggest therapy?"

"He refused. That would be the angry, sweaty day." He had been so insistent that he couldn't go backwards, that he couldn't go back to where he had been before, but he was oblivious to the fact that he was already back there. She had no way of convincing him.

Meredith twisted her lips. "Maybe he'll cool down after delivery."

"Hopefully."

"But what if he doesn't?"

Cristina shook her head. "Then I'll convince him to go back to therapy. But right now he's okay… he's okay with this – with us hanging out. I think he feels better when I'm here."

"I definitely feel better when you're here. Zola is too skinny to help me up."

"I feel you on that one. Collin is not a good counterweight."

Upon hearing his name, her son stirred, stretching his little hands out above the arm of the chair. He peeked at her and she smiled at him, provoking a grin. He hid his face in the covers, jarring Bailey and making him groan.

"Collin just turned two," Meredith commented, "And Bailey will be four in May. I foresee a lot of mischief in their future."

"It worked out for them," Cristina agreed. "I mean, Zola has Sofia, Bailey and Collin have each other, and our twins will have each other. Did we plan this out without realizing it?"

Collin rolled out of the chair, limping over to her and snuggling into her side. He had given up on trying to be held up to her chest. His siblings were in the way. His blue eyes, particularly radiant after a nap, and his curly blonde hair, standing up in a series of cowlicks all over his scalp, made him quite the little stud muffin. He looked remarkably unlike the woman who had abandoned him, and so much healthier than he had only months ago. It seemed that every day she spent with him, every moment they had together, breathed more life into him.

Meredith was smiling at Collin. She drew in another long breath. "Did you ever meet his father?"

"I saw a picture once. I don't really remember what he looked like." Cristina stroked the boy's hair down, smiling when it sprung back up. "But people just assume he's Owen's, so I let them."

"They do look alike, if you squint."

They both looked up at the sound of the mail truck coming down the road. It paused briefly and then headed back in the opposite direction. They must have hated Meredith's house because it was so out of the way – but then again, they got to rest their delivery hand and just drive for a few minutes. Meredith began to get up, grunting comically.

"Okay, okay," Cristina said, pressing her friend back into the cushion. "I got this. Try not to pop those babies out early."

"I'm due in like fifteen days," Meredith said, relaxing again. She rubbed her stomach.

"Still, I got this. You might pee if you keep it up."

Cristina managed to get to her feet, wrapping the blanket over her shoulders and heading for the door. Collin pursued her, but he stayed inside, watching her from the window.

She had a hard time on the stairs, but after that it was an easy walk to the mailbox. She hung out there for a moment, flipping through her friend's mail until she could catch her breath. She got distracted by one of the letters – handwritten, from a name she recognized. Maggie Pierce. It has been a long time since she had interviewed that young doctor for a position at Grey-Sloan – it was for the new head of cardiothoracic surgery. As she understood it, Maggie had spent a short time there before leaving to handle a 'family emergency.'

Cristina was slated to become the head of cardiothoracic surgery when she came off maternal leave, so seeing the letter made her prickle a little. Was Maggie going to try and get her job back? And why the hell was she writing to Meredith? She slipped her finger under the lip of the envelope, tempted to see what it was all about.

She kept herself from opening it, though she wondered if she should give it to Meredith. If it was something bad, something that would upset her friend, she didn't want her to see it. But she couldn't tell unless she looked inside.

She made it back to the house, still debating, and kicked her shoes off beside the others. She had her eyes on the letter, on the fancy calligraphy covering the front. "Hey, Mer, you got a letter from that cardio chick that left, Maggie Pierce. Did you even know her?"

She dumped the other letters on the table, lingering on a credit card offer directed at Derek. "Do you want me to throw the junk away?" she asked, raising her voice a little. "One of these is for a subscription to National Geographic. Who do they think we are?"

She waited, shrugged, and picked them up again, taking them to the couch. She read the strangest looking envelope aloud. "New weight loss method – the fat just melts away!"

She looked down, and it took her brain a moment to register what she was seeing.

"Mer?" she whispered.

But her friend could not answer.

She was sitting with her head back against the couch, her eyes blank, her hands stretched out. Bailey was at her side, staring desperately into her face, and Collin had his shirt up over his eyes. It was finally silent, if only in her own mind.

Cristina dropped the letters.

"…Mer?"


	52. Downpour

**Downpour.**

**February 15, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was a strange thing to hear. In his line of work, devastating things came through all the time. He heard of kids with severed limbs, tragically aggressive cancers, and sudden and inexplicable deaths in relatively safe places. He had spent his entire career training to better handle bad news. He was good at keeping himself composed, good at searching for solutions, good at keeping others from losing themselves in the panic. But when the phone rang, and the nurse handed it over to him, his perspective on tragedy changed. He listened, a tremor passing through his insides, and for a moment all he could do was stand there and think about it. Consider it. Attempt to understand it.

He went straight down to them, grabbing one of the surgical residents as he went. He would need his surgeries rescheduled, if they could be. When he left the elevator he found the hallway dotted with sad faces, waiting, watching, uncertain. Their sadness gave him all the information he needed.

He rushed down to the room, staring inside. Cristina was in there. She stood by the head of the table, her hand planted over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, as Webber worked furiously on the chest of someone Owen had known for quite a while now. She was a friend, and now she looked too far gone. He could hardly look at her empty face.

He heard a whimper and he whipped around. Bailey and Collin were sitting side-by-side on the bench directly across from the door, obscured by the bodies rushing east to west. It was almost a stream of scrubs and white coats.

Owen went to them, crouching down in front of the bench and putting his hands on their knees. He had never seen them look so afraid. He had never seen such a ghostly expression on Bailey – it was reminiscent of when his father had died, when Derek had been lying in this hospital, but now that it was Meredith the boy's agony was much sharper. Owen doubted he would ever forget this, even if it all worked out in the end. He would carry this his whole life.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, cupping the kid's face. "Your mommy is going to be fine, okay? That's what they're doing in there right now. They're helping her get better."

Bailey's lip quivered and he slid forward, wrapping his arms around Owen's neck. He held on like he thought he was going to drift away, and Owen was the only thing mounting him to the ground. Owen shifted around, sitting on the bench beside Collin. He held Bailey in his lap and Collin leaned on him. He looked haunted, too, like he was remembering a personal tragedy.

He sat there for several seconds, craning his neck to see what was happening in the procedure room, before Alex came running down the hallway. He stopped so suddenly that he almost lost his stethoscope. His eyes were wild. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know," Owen told him, motioning toward the room.

Alex glanced at the window, his expression becoming youthful all of the sudden. Owen had not known them as interns, but he was aware that Alex, Cristina, and Meredith were the last remaining of a close-knit group. They were like siblings, bonded by medicine and hardship over the years. It showed in his face. He had lost his arrogance and his devil-may-care attitude. He rushed inside, shoving one of the nurses to get to Meredith. He would be checking for a fetal heartbeat. If things didn't improve with her, they would have to save the babies.

Owen still watched, though it was like a disaster movie. Someone had attached leads to her, but the monitors showed poor vitals. Her heart was not beating. Her blood pressure plummeted. Her temperature was even going down. Webber continued with the compressions but he could get little circulation going.

"Owen!"

He looked up at another voice, this one originating from the opposite hallway, near the elevators. It was Callie, and her wife was right behind her. Arizona went straight into the room, joining her protégé. Callie came to him, sitting beside him and scooping Collin up. He latched onto her neck immediately, crying, and she rubbed his back.

Callie took one look at the window, and then looked away. She took a settling breath. "Do you know what happened?"

"No. I got the call when one of my residents noticed them come in."

"Did she… arrive unresponsive?"

"As far as I know."

Callie seemed to be getting as much support from Collin as she was giving to him. She was shaking her head, clearly distressed, and tears formed in her eyes. "God, we should've known something like this would happen. We can't be happy here. It just doesn't work like that."

"You can't think like that." He was already thinking of her death. He already saw her funeral, and the sad looks on the faces of her children, and the devastation Cristina would experience, but he wanted Callie on the other end of the spectrum. He needed someone to believe in the impossible. "Meredith is strong. She always has been."

Callie sat up suddenly, hitting his shoulder. "Oh! Oh! I see a pulse!"

He stood up, holding Bailey in one arm and staring through the window. Callie was right. The little monitor beside her bed was showing a low, but steady pulse. Webber had finally stopped his compressions and he was shaking out his arms. For a second it seemed that Meredith was still unconscious, but she twisted her head a little, blinking, and licked her lips.

He smiled, finally taking an easy breath. "Thank god."

Callie was bouncing a little on her heels. She kissed Collin's forehead, murmuring to herself. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Cristina came to the door, holding her arms out for Bailey instead of Collin. She was smiling and laughing at the same time. "She wants to see him. He needs to know she's okay."

He handed the boy over, stepping inside with her. He was reading the monitors while Cristina took the little boy over to visit his mother. Callie hung back with Collin, speaking quietly to him. Owen had to switch sides to see what Arizona and Alex were up to, and he was glad they were picking up two strong, quick heartbeats from within her womb. Her daughters had survived.

Suddenly Meredith wedged her hands into the table and sat up a little, groaning like someone had stabbed her. She let herself drop heavily, making a loud thud.

"Labor," Alex stated, withdrawing his equipment and beginning to prod at her stomach. He looked around, "We're moving to a delivery room. Let's get this thing rolling."

Just like that, the team of nurses and doctors that had been there to save her life dispersed, with only the specialists remaining. Owen took Bailey back from Cristina so she could follow the party upstairs, and he lingered with Callie in the hall, watching them load into the elevator. Cristina looked up briefly from Meredith, whose hand she was holding, and smiled at Owen just as the doors closed. It was a sad, worried smile, and it chilled him.

"Mommy is going upstairs to have your sisters," Callie said to Bailey, holding his little hand. She was smiling, but there was an underlying tension in her.

Bailey frowned. "I want mommy."

"We can go up and see her later." Callie set Collin down and took Bailey from Owen, patting his back. "Do you want to go to the daycare and see if any of your friends are there?"

He nodded, puffing out his lip.

"I'm gonna go drop him off and check on Mer, you in?"

Owen picked Collin up, pressing his hand flat to the boy's back. Collin hugged his neck, resting his face on Owen's shoulder. He must have been exhausted. It was his nap time and all of this chaos had just unraveled in front of him. "No, I think I'll let him take a nap. He's had a rough morning."

"I'm gonna offer my hands for the twins," Callie said. "Until we know what the hell happened with her, I'm not putting any faith in a smooth delivery."

"If you're not back by two-thirty I'll pick up Zola from school and get Bailey from the daycare. I'll just… take them back to Meredith's house."

"Can you pick up Sofia, too?"

"If that's okay."

"It's fine. I'll text you if I can't get away."

She headed to the elevator, and Owen waited until the doors closed to look back at the room Meredith had been in. He wished he had been there that morning. Cristina must have done chest compressions, but her condition prevented her from being much use. CPR was highly physical. He wanted to know the circumstances of this event. Had something lodged in her throat and cut off her breathing? Had her throat swollen in response to an allergen? Had her heart stopped from the stress of her pregnancy? Was there some underlying condition that would flare up again?

"Let's go get some sleep, buddy," he said to Collin, holding him securely on his way to the emergency bay exit. He hoped Collin would forget most of what had happened. He was very young, after all. He would have an easier time putting it behind him than Bailey.

He laid the kid down in the backseat of his SUV, covering him with his coat and shutting him inside. He stood against the door, staring at the hospital, wondering what he would do it something like that happened to Cristina. It occurred to him that Meredith no longer had Derek to be so worried for her. She was not alone because Cristina filled that hole. The two of them were soulmates. It was nice to know that if something happened to him, and took his life as swiftly as Derek's had been taken, his lover, and his children, would be protected.

He glanced back inside the car, and Collin was watching him. He realized that the anxiety he had felt over the past few weeks had left him in the blink of an eye. It should have been tearing him apart. He didn't understand it, but he was grateful.

He was grateful it was over.


	53. Still

**Still.**

**February 15, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was the nature of surgeons to always have a plan. What would you stitch up next? What would you do it your patient started seizing? How will you handle the hundreds of questions thrown at you by the family? What will you decide, when it comes down to a few desperate choices? How do you spend the afternoon when everything, everywhere, has gone terribly wrong?

Owen was faced with it now. He sat in the daycare watching the kids draw. He kept his eyes on Bailey, wondering what would happen to the kid, should his mother die upstairs. Was she gone already? Would he have the heart to take the orphans into his home? Did she even have a will? He felt the storm clouds closing in on them all, but he managed a smile whenever the boys looked up. It was alright for them to be oblivious. It was alright to keep everything from them until there was no other alternative. He would not say those words aloud until he was sure.

He looked up when the door opened. It was Callie. She looked a little shell-shocked, but as she sunk down beside him she also forced a smile to the kids. She spoke quietly, calmly, like this had happened to her a hundred times before.

"Cristina said Meredith lost consciousness at dawn, when Cristina went to get the mail. She found her on the couch and called an ambulance. Right now she's awake and responsive, but she's in labor, so most of what she says is sprinkled with curses. Arizona says the fetal heartbeat is strong, but she thought there might be something wrong."

He swallowed. His throat felt frozen. "Does she know what?"

"Not yet." Callie brushed her hair back, shaking her head. She looked uncertain for once, when she was usually so confident. "God, I can't even… When I was… Sofia was so little when she was born. We thought she was going to die – I prayed for her every night, and every night she had seizure after seizure and… I don't want Meredith to go through that."

Owen kept his eyes on Collin. Just an hour ago that little boy had been napping in the car, and when he had cried, Owen had picked him up and rocked him back to sleep. He sat there with him, holding him, until he was quiet again. He had only known him a short time – short relative to how long he had known Cristina – and yet if something so devastating had happened to him, Owen wouldn't be able to breathe. Callie must have been thinking the same thing.

"I called Addison, too," Callie said, puffing out a determined breath. "She should be here in a few hours. She was here when… she saved my life when Sofia was born."

"I was there," Owen reminded her gently.

"Zola doesn't even know yet." Callie went on as if she hadn't heard him. "What are we gonna tell her? She's so excited to have sisters."

"We don't even know yet," Owen said.

Callie rested her head on the tiny preschool table, groaning. "You're right. You're right. Slap me if I start panicking. Everything is fine."

"I should put a call in to Amelia, see if she wants to be here."

Callie sat straight up. "Good idea. Bring the aunt brigade to Seattle."

"Is that sarcastic?"

"No. Did it sound sarcastic? Sorry. I worked all night last night. I was supposed to be in bed by now. I'm getting delirious." She handed him her phone, pulling up her contacts.

He took it, frowning. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Owen, do you really think Amelia would answer if _you_ called?"

XxX

Cristina held onto her friend's clammy hand, doing everything in her power to keep herself from freaking out. It had been over four hours now and things were getting progressively worse. She had started off the morning losing her pulse, and now she was dripping blood like a plug had been pulled somewhere inside. Meredith was moaning and throwing her head from side to side, and every now and then she started screaming like her intestines were being ripped right out of her abdomen. Cristina only knew the basics when it came to delivering babies – what every doctor learned in medical school – and she had only come to pediatrics a few times when she was a resident, so she had to rely on the half-dozen pink-scrub wearing nurses flitting in and out, and the two surgeons who had spent their careers preparing for this.

She found herself watching the clock, sitting uncomfortably straight in a cushioned chair by the bedside. She had been yelled at for pacing. Arizona said she could not deal with two twin deliveries at the same time. Cristina counted the minutes between contractions. It was now at three minutes, after two hours of Meredith moaning every single minute. She was in the delivery stage by now.

"Okay, look at me," Arizona said, coming to the other side of the bed. She held Meredith's face securely in one gloved hand and shined a light through her eyes, studying her reaction. "Do you feel like you need to push?"

Meredith nodded, tightening her grip on Cristina's hand. Her voice was jittery and hoarse. "Is there something wrong with my babies? Why are you making that face?"

Briefly, doubt shone in the other doctor's eyes. She took a steadying breath, holding Meredith's other hand. She squeezed it gently, smiling. "I won't let anything happen to them, okay?" When Meredith tried to speak, Arizona hushed her. "Right now your job is to push, and my job is to worry. I need you to do your job now."

Meredith groaned, pushing briefly, and then letting her head fall onto the table. She gasped for breath. "Arizona you tell me right now – are my babies dead?"

"_Push_," Arizona urged, stepping to the bottom of the table and sharing an uncertain glance with Alex. He was the one doing the prodding down there. He had two incubators standing by behind him, and he seemed poised to catch a baby if it decided to pop out.

She obeyed, now looking desperately at Cristina. Her voice was breaking around her words, just like it did when she was grieving, just like it did when her whole world was falling apart. Cristina's heart broke for her. "Please, Cristina, please. I can't lose them. I can't lose anyone else."

"We heard a heartbeat, remember?" Cristina responded, though she was starting to feel the burden of those tiny lives. Alex and Arizona looked grim.

Meredith was seized by another contraction. She sat up on her elbow, straining, and Alex tugged a newborn gently into the room. Cristina smiled, believing for a moment that all was well in the universe, and then she heard it.

Arizona sounded desperate.

"She's wrapped!"

Alex stood straight and Cristina gasped, unable to take her eyes off of the baby in his arms. She was perfectly still, purplish, with her umbilical cord wrapped three times around her neck. Her chest did not rise. Her eyes did not open. She was the tiniest little thing, beautiful, but horrifyingly tranquil as she lay in his hold.

"Is she breathing?" Meredith demanded. She released Cristina, trying to climb into an upright position. She was forced back down when the pain took her again. She started gasping. "Is she breathing? Alex! Please!"

He retrieved a pair of curved scissors, the kind they used to cut the cord, and started digging his fingers into the baby's neck, trying to separate the tube from its tiny throat. He placed it in one of the incubators, hovering over it. Cristina had to draw her focus away from him, away from the unmoving angel, when Meredith cried out in pain.

"Focus on pushing," Arizona commanded. "I can see the head! Give me one good push!"

"Is my baby dead?" Meredith moaned, though she obeyed the orders. She got up on her elbow again and Cristina grabbed her hand. She was straining every muscle in her arm.

It was different this time. Arizona pulled the baby into her arms, wrapping her up in a little pink towel and rubbing her chest vigorously for several seconds. The baby started wailing, throwing her arms around and screaming. Arizona only held her for a moment. She took her around the table and gave her to Cristina, rushing to the back of the room.

Nurses rushed in, encouraging Meredith to deliver her placenta, but she as sobbing. She kept repeating the same question, but no one could answer her. Cristina stood, stunned, with a newborn in her arms and watched Alex and Arizona work on the other one. When Alex finally got a finger under the tube, they managed to slice it in half. Arizona ripped it away and began prodding at the baby's neck. Within seconds she had made a decision. She shut the lid on the incubator.

"It looks like her trachea is crushed," Arizona announced, unlocking the wheels on the incubator and rushing it into the hall. She passed it to Alex. "Can you handle it?"

He looked stunned. He nodded, putting both hands on the box and racing away with it. Arizona returned to the room, mashing the code button on the wall and coming back to the bedside. She stayed at the end of the table, feeling around with her hands.

"What's happening?" Cristina demanded, struggling to get her voice above that of the screaming baby and her hysterical mother.

Arizona returned to the bedside, kicking the wheels until they unlocked. She met Cristina's eyes briefly, sadly, and then started moving the bed. "Something went wrong. I need to open her up."

Meredith was beginning to look paler. She was definitely bleeding internally. Cristina had the urge to drop the baby in the incubator and help in any way she could, but her friend kept screaming the same thing, even as her cries grew weaker, even as Arizona took her out of the room, even as her bed's wheels rolled through the blood she had been losing.

"Is my baby dead? Alex! Bring her back! _Alex_!"

It went silent as they headed down the hall, a whole herd of nurses pursuing them. She would call the whole floor if she had to. The crash cart she had summoned with the code button was already following them into the elevator. Meredith was conscious one moment, still screaming, and then even she went quiet. Cristina stayed in the doorway, watching them, trying to force herself to accept what had just happened.

She looked down at the baby – Baby B – and wiped her tears on her sleeve.

"Hi, Ellis," she whispered, a whimper slipping into her voice. "Your mom is gonna be fine. Mer is gonna be… fine."


	54. Baby A

**Baby A.**

**February 15, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It had been twenty-six minutes since Addison Montgomery had rushed into the OR. Meredith had been unconscious for almost an hour. He knew nothing of the status of the other twin, but the one in his arms was healthy, if not a little underweight. He was standing with her, staring at her sleeping face, while his lover rocked steadily in one of the nearby maternity chairs. She had been standing too long today and she had already thrown up twice. One of the OB/GYN's was crouched beside her, urging her to drink from a cup of ice water. She was refusing.

Owen bounced the baby gently, retreating to the chair beside Cristina. Their eyes met. She smiled weakly, glancing at the baby, and then finally took a sip of water. She ran her hand up and down her stomach, which was almost larger than Meredith's had been.

"Her name is Ellis," Cristina croaked, clearing her throat. "Ellis Shepherd."

He nodded, switching his arms around to help ease a sore spot. He had been holding her for a while and she seemed to be getting heavier. "Which was she?"

"Baby B." Cristina sat up a little, looking at the baby. She had warmth in her eyes, but she also looked exhausted. It had been a long morning. "She looks like Derek."

He could see the resemblance, even in such a young face. Ellis was fair-skinned, with a tuft of fine black hair on the top of her head. She would have curly hair, just like her father. He could already see it. She would probably be thin, like her mother, and she would keep those startling blue eyes. Her black hair would grow long and form ringlets over her shoulders. She would be beautiful, but it would be tragic if she was alone. Her mother and her sister had to survive.

Cristina sighed, lifting her shirt a little to press her fist into her side. She glared at the doctor beside her, who stirred every time she did. "Dude, seriously, go somewhere. Every time you move I think I'm going to spontaneously drop a baby."

The other doctor looked at Owen for approval.

"Go. I'll keep an eye on her."

Cristina continued to massage her stomach, watching the fleeing doctor until he was on the other side of the door. She laid her head back into the chair. "What a tool."

Owen laughed. "Go easy on him. You look a little off-kilter."

"I am, but not because of the pregnancy." She lifted her head, staring at him and then dropping her eyes to the baby. "I just keep thinking about what life would be like…"

He hated the tremor in her voice. "Meredith is in good hands."

"I know. I know that." She reached out for him, and he held the baby with one arm so he could take her hand. She pulled it to her face and shut her eyes. "I just need information. Can you go see what's going on? I'm fine. I'm really fine."

He had to debate on that one. He had found her standing in that room, standing in her friend's blood, holding the baby and shaking like a leaf. He brought her here to help her calm down, and it seemed to be working. She was actually sitting, resting. She was sipping dutifully from her little plastic cup. She occasionally nibbled on a cookie. He liked having her here where doctors and nurses were always passing through, because he expected her to drop like Meredith any moment.

He wanted to know what was happening, too. Meredith was his friend and she meant so much to Cristina. His desire for news was not as strong as his desire to protect Cristina though. He would know no greater pain than losing her.

"Hey," Cristina whispered, sensing his agitation. Her eyes were soft for the first time that day. She urged him closer, until she could rest her head on his hip. "Give me the baby. You can just tell one of the nurses to watch me."

He leaned down, carefully delivering the baby to her arms. "I'm surprised you're not trying to escape and go by yourself."

She took the baby like it was made of porcelain, smiling down at her with the same affection he had seen her show to Collin. It was a powerful maternal instinct, one that seemed to light up her world. She shrugged at his question. "I feel like vomiting and the room is vibrating a little bit. I think I'll stay right here."

He crouched, pressing his fingers to the joint of her wrist, right where a vein crossed over her radius. Her pulse was strong. "I'll ask Dr. Warner to come back in."

"Yeah, please do. Wait, who is that?"

"The tool."

She smiled a little. "Ah. Tell him to bring more cookies."

He watched her, admiring how gentle she was with the newborn. "I could put her in the bassinet, if you want to rest. That chair lays back."

"No, no," Cristina said, reaching down to lean the chair back. She was still staring at the baby, never letting her eyes stray. "Meredith is in surgery. Baby A might… might be dead already. I have to hold Ellis. For Meredith. I have to hold her."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, wishing she didn't sound so desperate. "I'll be back soon. Try not to go into labor."

"I make no promises."

He left her cooing over the baby, with a nurse hovering in the doorway to watch her. His nerves took over as he headed upstairs, and recalled, quite violently, how this morning had begun. He had to stop in the middle of the hallway, experiencing flashes of his most recent nightmares. Cristina, losing her life in childbirth. It blended with the sound of a helicopter thrumming in the distance, with the taste of sand in his mouth, with the heat of a grenade blast.

Someone touched his shoulder and the hospital came back into focus.

"Owen? Are you okay?"

Callie stood behind him, holding Collin on her left hip. Her eyes were wide. Her expression made him wonder just how freaked out he looked. "W-What?" he responded, stuttering.

"You were just standing there, holding your head," Callie informed him, glancing around. "Did you bump into that invisible chandelier back there?"

Collin started crying and reaching for him. He was the only child that refused to stay in the daycare. He had severe separation anxiety and he had bonded somewhat with Callie, so he had gone willingly with her when Owen had escorted Cristina down to the nursery. He was just realizing that he had been separated from his parents, and he was very upset. When Owen took him, his crying stopped and he shoved half his hand in his mouth, sniffling.

Owen wished he could get over his distress that easily. He leaned against the wall, taking a few deep, deep breaths to get his nerves to settle.

Callie put her hand on his shoulder. Her voice fell into a kinder tone. "Hey, you okay? Because you look like you're freaking out."

"I'm not… _freaking out_," he said, forcing himself upright.

"Whoa, I'm not challenging your manhood here. I've seen you all sweaty and shaky before, remember? It didn't go too well."

That night in the bedroom. He could remember it clearly. Callie had come in to find him choking Cristina in his sleep. He could not remember her entry, only how she had looked at him when he finally realized where he was. It had been an unforgettable event.

"Let's sit down for a sec."

"I have to go see what's happening."

"I know what's happening. Come sit down and I'll tell you."

He sighed, following her to a nearby bench and slumping onto it. "Fine. I'm sitting. What's going on with Meredith? Is she alive?"

"Would I look so chipper if she were dead?" Callie responded.

Owen smiled. It was such a relief to hear that. "And what about Baby A?"

"_Alexandra_ is alive. Alex performed an emergency trach and she's on oxygen. Her throat is messed up, but he's hopeful. With the right plastic surgeon she could make a full recovery."

"Alexandra?"

"Lexie for short."

He nodded. He had forgotten that Meredith wanted to name her children after the people she had lost. Ellis was her mother, who had died from Alzheimer's, and Lexie was her little sister, killed in the plane crash. It was cruel irony, to have Lexie go through so much during her birth. It was like Meredith was being punished again, losing the same person twice.

Callie rubbed his shoulder, twisting her lips. "Um, so, Meredith is stable. I think they were setting up a transfusion for her when I left. Addison swooped in like a vagina ninja and nipped that internal bleeding in the bud. She's going to check on the baby now. I was just taking Collin down there."

"I'll join you guys, if that's okay."

"Do you want some water first?"

"I'm fine."

She stopped him from getting up, putting on her serious eyebrows. "Owen Hunt, if you don't come with me to get some water right now I'll call the psych ward on your ass."

"Well that escalated quickly," he responded. He wasn't sure if she was serious.

"We are done with tragedy here. Do you hear me? Done with it. And you look like you could totally flip a table right now. So we're going down to get some ice water and you're gonna let yourself calm down. I'm done with tragedy."

He tried to speak.

She held up her finger. "Done with it. Get your ass in gear."


	55. Fever

**Fever.**

**February 15, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

The precious quiet of the room almost lulled her to sleep. She was alone, tucked away in a quiet corner meant for new mothers, a warm newborn snoozing in her arms. Ellis breathed every few seconds, cooing to herself, and every few minutes she stretched out and repositioned her tiny arms. Cristina rocked back and forth in a padded chair, following a trail of baby animals that marched into a barn on the far wall. Someone had dimmed the lights when they had stashed her in here, so the whole place was dreamlike. It contributed to her hope that this whole day was one long nightmare, and that she would wake up soon. She would wake up, and everything would be fine.

It had been twenty minutes since Owen had left for news. She was beginning to think he had fled the country. She was glad when someone knocked on the door, but she frowned when Alex poked his head in. He looked uncertain. He slipped inside, only allowing a small fraction of the nursery light to pour across the floor, and then he shut them in together.

"Hey," he said, coming to crouch by her chair. He put his hand on the armrest. He was using his doctor voice, the same one he used on the little kids he operated on. "Callie said you wanted news."

She was unsure about his tone, and the weird grief in his eyes. He had seemed much more confident earlier when racing down the hall with the breathless newborn earlier. It was like the fire had drained out of him now. It was liked Cristina was looking in the mirror.

"I do," she responded, matching his quiet tone. "Uh, not that I don't appreciate your big sad eyes, but where's Owen?"

He smiled, reaching over to place his hand delicately on the baby's chest. He seemed enchanted with her. It was the only word that could describe the look in his eyes. "He was with Callie. I think they went to the cafeteria to get Collin something to eat."

She waited, wishing she had a free hand to smack him. "So?"

"I did a trach on Lexie and rebuilt her airway. We called in somebody from plastics but he won't touch her until she's had at least a day to cool down. I think she'll come around."

She was almost afraid to prod him for more.

He sensed her indecision. He shifted his hand from the baby to her arm, squeezing it lightly. "Mer is doing great. Addison had to do a hysterectomy, but it was vaginal, so she won't have a scar and she'll heal up in no time."

"Uteruses only caused her trouble anyway."

He laughed. "She said the same thing."

Her heart jumped. "She's awake?"

He twisted his lips. "She was for a little while, but we put her on a heavy morphine drip when the pain kicked in. She asked about the girls."

"I want to see her."

He stood up, hunching over her, and put his hands out for the baby. "Can I hold her?"

She passed Ellis to him, realizing that he was one of the few people in the world she would trust to hold the newborn. He sat in the chair beside her, holding the baby snuggly in one arm while he dusted her hair back with his free hand. She wondered about that look on his face, that paternal protection he seemed to offer. It reminded her of how he had looked after Zola when she was sick, when her parents weren't even allowed to visit her.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Your mom is gonna be fine. She can't wait to meet you. And your sister is a fighter. You got a hell of a family, kid."

Cristina watched them for a few moments, glad to see him happy, and glad to see something that wasn't dismal and gray. She hated to interrupt it. "I would go on my own, to see Meredith, but I almost ate tile earlier. If you could just find me a wheelchair…"

He smirked. "Relax. I heard you. Wait here."

He left with the baby, letting the door shut behind him. Cristina wiggled her way out of her chair, turning to hold onto it when the room spun. She could feel her pulse thrumming in her forehead, and deep within her arms. Her blood pressure must have been through the roof. She tried to settle herself, flattening her hair and smacking her cheeks to get a little color in them.

Alex returned with a wheelchair. He helped her into it, appearing amused while she pouted. "You gonna cry, Yang? You want me to get you a tissue?"

"I want you to kiss my ass, evil spawn."

He took her the long way to the ICU, letting all of her coworkers see her being escorted in her little black wheelchair. She glared at everyone they passed, daring them to make eye contact. Her newest set of interns, barely out of medical school – currently under the supervision of the man pushing her wheelchair – skittered off in every direction when she passed by, like little roaches in the beam of a flashlight. She only dropped her glare when they made it upstairs.

It was much quieter in this area, the silence only permeated by the constant beeping of machines. For once it was not full. Cristina glanced into the empty rooms, wondering if people had suddenly learned how to drive in the snow. She really doubted it.

Meredith was in the room right across from the nurse's station. She was lying flat, her hands resting at her sides, her head off to the right. She was pale from losing blood, but not as pale as she had been the day she had almost drowned. Cristina was glad for the difference. Her breathing was strong and her eyes moved beneath the lids, signaling activity in her brain. She was thinking. She was probably worrying about her kids. She had no way of knowing what was happening.

Alex wheeled her to the right side, and he went to the left. Together they leaned over their friend, holding onto her hands, watching her face. Cristina sensed a deeper affection in Alex, and a deep, boyish fear in his eyes. It made her wonder how close they had gotten when she'd left. She wondered if more than friendship drove him. He had been so sweet with the baby, and now he was gazing at the mother like his whole world was falling apart.

"Easy tiger," Cristina remarked.

He glared at her. "Shut up."

"Is that all you have to come back with? Shut up? When I left Seattle you got soft."

"It's not like that," he grunted, returning his eyes to Meredith. "She's… my best friend."

"She's mine, too," Cristina reminded him. She tried to drop the possessive tone in her voice. She was acting a bit like a toddler. He looked genuinely upset, even as Cristina managed to come to terms with the situation. "Alex, I didn't mean-"

"There you are!" Suddenly they were not alone. Addison appeared in the doorway, a little out of breath. She beckoned Alex. "Robbins wants you down in the NICU."

"What happened?" Cristina demanded, rolling her chair backward.

Alex jumped up. "Is she crashing?"

"No, no," Addison surveyed them, and held up both hands. "Oh, no. She just developed a fever. Robbins wants you down there to monitor her."

"Why are you out of breath?" Cristina asked.

"I took the stairs. Big mistake."

Alex headed for the door, and then turned to Cristina and groaned. "Stay here."

"Yeah, that's happening," Cristina responded, struggling to get out of her wheelchair. She had lost most of the dizziness that had grounded her earlier, but her chest and back still ached from giving Meredith CPR that morning. Her stomach felt like it was going to detach and roll away.

Addison stepped into her path, guiding her gently back into her chair. "We are not dealing with more twins today. You need to rest."

"I have to-"

She crouched suddenly, putting her hands on Cristina's knees. Her face was annoyingly sincere, and her voice was gentle and patient enough to negate any opposition. "The only thing you have to do right now is take care of yourself and those babies. Robbins and Alex will take care of Lexie, and Meredith is going to be fine. Just give yourself a break, okay?"

Cristina sighed. She glanced at Alex, grumbling, "Call me if anything happens."

He rolled his eyes, vanishing down the hallway. She rolled up to the door to watch him, wishing, for just a moment, that her twins didn't exist. She would be jogging right beside him, like when they were interns. She hadn't moved like that in months.

"Soon you can just get up and slap him," Addison assured her.

Cristina smiled, invoking her whiney voice. "But I wanna slap him _now_."

Addison went to Meredith's bedside, lifting her gown slightly to glance at her thighs. She nodded to herself. "She did really well. She's still just as strong as she was when we met."

"Long time ago," Cristina agreed, rolling to the other side. She let her arms slump, worn from the simple motion of moving her wheels. "And now I feel old again. Thanks for that."

"Nothing wrong with that."

Cristina remained silent, staring into her friend's face. Eventually she was left alone. She was sitting there for hours, just watching her eyes flicker back and forth beneath the lids. She had begun the day with a nightmare, seeing her friend lying motionless, trying desperately to get her heart to start beating again. She had seen her brought back, and then watched her crash again, watched the blood erupt from her, watched one of her children almost lose her life to her own umbilical cord. Addison was confident she would do well, and Alex seemed sure of it, but Cristina could not share their optimism.

She leaned into her friend's hand, unsure of its coldness, and forced herself to be calm. She felt sad, sort of broken by what she had seen, but she did her best to bring the light back.

She thought of their first days together, the ridiculous stress of internship, the angst all around them, and it brought a smile to her face. "Look at how far we came," she whispered, rubbing her hand up and down Meredith's arm. "We kicked ass. We are kickass surgeons, with kickass kids, and we… we are gonna keep being kickass."

"Very motivational."

She looked up, smiling at the handsome men coming into the room. Owen looked a little jittery, and Collin looked like he had just woken up from a nap. He held his arms out for her immediately, his little lip quivering, and she pulling him into her side. It felt good to hold him again, like she had become a whole person once more.

"I went down to check on Lexie," Owen said, pulling up a chair beside her. He sunk into it, his eyes on Meredith. "She has a fever, low-grade right now, but it's been steadily rising. She might have caught something from the hospital."

Cristina took Meredith's hand again, comforting her even though she was unconscious. "How bad is it? What did Arizona say?"

"She might not make it, after all," Owen sighed. He crossed his arms and shook his head, his eyes downcast. "I just don't know."

"She'll make it," Cristina said. "She's strong."

"What if she doesn't?" Owen asked, his voice becoming louder all of the sudden. It made her jump. He held up his hand. "Sorry. I just keep thinking…" he glanced at her stomach, and then stood, sending his chair skidding back a few feet. "I have to take care of something. Just take it easy here, okay? Call me if anything changes."

"You don't have to go," she said, but her words fell on nothing. He was already gone. She stared at the door, expecting him to swing back in and apologize. "Owen?"

Collin wriggled a little, also watching the door. He was frowning. His face had been stuck on that all day. "Sad," he stated, poking her cheek with one little finger.

She shook her head, grabbing his hand and kissing it, provoking a giggle. She could not help a smile, and then she looked at Meredith again. "Mer, you and me are the only sane ones left. How about that, huh? We're the normal ones!" She laughed, pulling her spirits back up. "You, me, and Collin. Who would've thought?"


	56. Unhinged

**Unhinged.**

**February 17, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was almost nighttime again. Cristina watched the sunset through the narrow hospital room window, wondering for a moment if Shane was watching it rise on the other side of the world. With all of this going on, and with Owen on the lamb for two days now, she was starting to miss him again. He would know what to say, to make this all make sense. He would give her that goofy smile and remind her how strong she was, and he would mean it. He meant everything he said.

"Look at that!" Meredith exclaimed, wiggling up a little in bed. She was pointed at her daughter, who was parked beside her in her little incubation box. Her chest rose and fell with increasing strength. It had been like that for hours now, but every now and then Meredith noticed it again, and again she started to glow with joy.

Cristina came to sit on the edge of her bed, putting her hand on the box. It was cleaned every day, but the kid already had so many people doting on her that the plastic was always covered in fingerprints. Lexie was safe inside, a tiny baby girl with black hair curling on her skull. She shifted her hands around as Cristina watched, yawning, and took another loud breath. Her throat whistled when she breathed, but at least she was breathing on her own. It was all they could ask for.

"Alex did such a good job," Meredith cooed, running her hand over the glass. Her other arm was filled with Ellis, but she still managed to slide around in her bed. "He fixed your little baby throat up, didn't he? Didn't he? Oh yes he did!"

"I think your morphine drip might be a little too high." Cristina reached over and took the healthy twin, cradling her while her mother gazed into the incubator. "How do you feel?"

"You mean, is my vagina totally wrecked? I can't feel anything from the chest down."

Cristina smiled. "You're walkin' on sunshine, Mer."

"Hell yeah," Meredith responded, clasping her hand over her mouth. "I mean heck yeah." She looked at Cristina, amused. "Okay, maybe I have too much morphine. But it's great. You should try it. Make sure they give you morphine when you have yours."

"I could tell them my back hurts."

"Oh, yeah, do it. I'll totally back you up."

For a little while they were silent, basking in the newborns. Cristina's thoughts went back to Owen, and where he might have run off to. Evelyn said he had swung by with some urgent task in mind, but she had no idea where he had gone. Cristina feared he had officially flown the coop, leaving her with the kids he had so desperately wanted years ago. It was sadly ironic.

"Owen hasn't called, huh?" Meredith asked, frowning.

Cristina shrugged. "He's a big boy."

"With a pregnant wife. He doesn't get to disappear. I mean, no offense, but he can be such an asshole. I should give him a piece of my mind."

"If he comes back."

"Oh, he'll come back, even if I have to drag him back."

Cristina laughed. She was starting to like this drug-induced version of Meredith. She talked like she was drunk, and made facial expressions like a surprised baby. "Oh, yeah? You don't want to marry me and join our kids into a dark and twisty union?"

Meredith snorted. "We would be great at parenting together. Our kids would be fierce."

"I doubt that. Collin backs down if you look at him sideways."

"Zola gives her toys away. I swear, a kid in daycare asked her for her shoes and she gave them to him! Don't even get me started on Bailey. He fights for thirty seconds, loses his balances, falls, and cries for two hours. He's a tiny drunk."

There was a knock on the door and they both looked up. Alex slipped in, a bag of food in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. He handed Meredith the bag and put the bar beside Cristina, smiling at the baby in her arms. He had been in this room at least ten times today, despite working on the other side of the hospital. She was starting to doubt his sanity. Meredith alternated between yelling at him and swooning over him, so lost in her morphine-induced moods that the real woman was practically comatose. Yet he still came, and he still brought food for both of them – the chocolate bar was mostly to appease Cristina, because the last time he had brought them fruits and vegetables to 'help Meredith heal.' It was a mistake he would not make again.

Cristina handed him the baby, tearing into her chocolate like it was the last bar on Earth. She sat back on the bed, bracing on one hand and using the other to shove chocolate in her face. She still kept her eyes on Alex, watching him walk around the room bouncing Ellis in his arms.

"I love you," Meredith said, pulling a chocolate bunny from her bag. She pulled the box in half and munched on it, frowning. "Oh, it's hollow."

"I think you'll survive" Alex said, not looking up from Ellis. He stopped in front of the window, giving the sunset half a second, and then he leaned over the incubator. "How's Lexie doing? I heard they moved her in here."

Cristina hauled herself upright again, going to slump in a nearby chair. She was done standing for the day. "Breathing on her own, no fever, and she wakes up every now and then."

He handed Ellis back to her, crouching down to get a better look into the little box. He squinted at it. "Looking good, kid. She should be ready to come out of there soon."

"When?" Meredith asked, her word slurred by her meal.

"Forty-eight hours, minimum," Alex said, glancing at her, and then standing straight. He looked around the room, stretching his arms nonchalantly. "Call me if you need anything." His eyes came to Cristina. "Oh, yeah, Hunt didn't show for his shift this morning. Still nothing?"

She shook her head. "He's off the grid."

"If you see him, tell him April saved his ass."

When he left, the room got a lot colder. He was annoying and intrusive, almost constantly present over the last couple of days, but she had gotten used to him. He was a fixture around here. Also, now that he was gone she was holding the baby, and her candy bar was sitting half-eaten on the table. Staring at it was destroying her.

"I think Alex has a crush on me."

Cristina looked up, surprised to hear such an observation from her friend. Meredith had acted completely oblivious to his behavior, so Cristina had stopped pointing it out. She just assumed it was their new normal. Meredith spoke airily, taking another bite of her bunny, and looked at the incubator. She didn't elaborate.

"Uh, okay. When are you gonna break it to him?"

Meredith frowned, sighing. "I don't know. I don't know how to bring it up." She took an aggravated chunk out of her bunny's torso, speaking while she chewed. "I mean, it's me, you, and Alex. We're all that's left. He's my friend. I don't want to…"

"Well you can't let him keep bringing you 'please love me' presents."

"I can't hurt him, either. So I guess I'm just stuck."

Cristina hated to see her look so down. She had been doing so well these past two days. She thought about going down to the daycare to grab Bailey – seeing him always made Meredith grin. She knew she had to stay away from the kids, though. Collin was finally settling in with the others and if Cristina went down there he would throw a tantrum and demand to come back with her. He was a little too loud for the newborns.

She was also torn by the situation Meredith was in. Alex was her friend, too. She loved that idiotic barbarian. He was going to perform the C-section that would bring her children into the world. He was one of the only people left from what felt like their joint childhood. She wanted him to be happy with Jo, because it seemed simple. They would get married, have a kid or two, and teach their spawn to commit petty crimes. She couldn't see him with Meredith. The only person she could imagine with her best friend had died a horrible death.

"Did you ever… consider it?" Cristina wondered. Her curiosity got the better of her. She had to know what her friend thought of this, beyond just outwardly rejecting it.

Meredith looked up from the incubator. "Huh?"

"Did you consider… Alex?" Cristina clarified.

"Derek hasn't even been dead a year," Meredith snapped, her tone darkening suddenly. She looked at the door, a furious light in her eyes. It dimmed rapidly as the seconds ticked on. "How could you even ask me that? I don't want to talk about this."

"You brought it up."

"Well, I'm putting it back down."

Cristina sensed uncertainty in Meredith, but she didn't dare push her. She had been through enough this week. She imagined herself instead, wondering if she would ever move on if the worst happened to Owen. She knew she couldn't. She had all her eggs in this basket. She had decided that night in Switzerland, when he proposed and threw his life dreams down at her feet, that this would be an all or nothing deal. Meredith must've felt that way about Derek. But if she truly felt nothing for Alex, why was she being so defensive?

It was none of her business, and all of her business, but Cristina kept her mouth shut. She focused instead on the kid in her arms. Ellis offered a simple outlet. She was too young to bring drama.

Her phone started vibrating, interrupting their silent pouting. Cristina balanced the baby in one arm and answered it, her heart doing a little flip when she saw the picture on her screen. He was still alive, after all. "Owen?"

She heard him take a deep breath. "Come down to the front. I'll pick you up."

"Why? I'm in here with Mer-"

"Just come down. I have something I need to show you."

His tone was gruff. She immediately disliked it. He must have been in a wicked mood. She considered hanging up on him. "Step one, tell me where the hell you've been."

"Can you just come down, please?"

"How about you call me back when you feel like explaining yourself?"

She hung up on him, dropping her phone on the side table. Meredith was staring at her, lip pursed thoughtfully. She had lost her angry expression. It was only curious now.

"What did he say?"

"He wanted me to come downstairs, to show me something."

Meredith sat up a little, groaning. "I heard him, sort of. He sounded-"

"I know how he sounded." Cristina watched her phone. It started vibrating again, almost jumping off the table. She set it back in the middle, ignoring the call. "He can come up here and explain himself. I'm the one who should be mad. Me."

"But you're not."

"It's the pregnancy," Cristina reasoned, glancing down at Ellis. "And the babies. Every time I get mad she sighs a little, and it just goes away."

"I'll be mad for you," Meredith said. "My whole abdomen is numb and one of my babies is going to have a permanent scar on her neck. I have all the angry you need."

"Okay, just, if he comes up here fill in what I would say."

"I can't curse in front of the babies. I'll just use alternatives, like biscuit licker."

She heard his boots coming down the hallway. He was pretty quick when he wanted to be. She kept her focus on the baby, ignoring him as he came into the doorway. She had missed him, and worried about him, and had a nightmare or two regarding his whereabouts, but he deserved the silence right now. He could wallow in it, for all she cared.

"Cristina" he said, his voice booming a little. He seemed to notice it, and he cut his volume down. "Hey, just come down with me. I have something you'll want to see."

"How about you explain where you've been for the last two days," Meredith said, crossing her arms, and then suddenly uncrossing them and cringing. Owen winced with her.

"I was… driving around Seattle."

"Cut the crap, Owen," Cristina said. She was glad he was staying by the door. She was tempted to grab the morphine drip and use it as a weapon.

He leaned against the doorframe. "I bought us a house. That's where I was."

His words didn't sink in for a moment. She just stared at him. "You did what?"

"We live in a trailer not fit for two people, let alone a two year old and twins. I thought we could use some more space, so I drove around for a while until I found the perfect place. It's close to Meredith's, and it has a huge backyard. Just come with me to see it."

"Uh… you disappeared for two days… didn't call, didn't show up for work… just to buy a house?" Cristina shook her head. "That's crazy, Owen."

"It's not crazy," he responded, a little too quickly.

He sounded anxious. She saw it in his eyes, too. It reminded her of when he'd first come to work at the hospital, fresh out of the desert. She had noticed it here and there, a few sleepless nights, a nightmare or two, but it was intensified now.

She changed her tone the moment she realized what was happening with him.

"Okay. Come take Ellis so I can get up."

Owen came over to her, smiling now, and took the baby gently from her arms. He passed her to her mother and helped Cristina out of her chair, keeping his hand in the small of her back. "We should go get Collin, too. He'll love the yard."

She had to admit she didn't want Collin around him right now, not until she let him cool down. "It's too cold out and he'll never want to leave."

Owen nodded, shrugging. "You're right."

"Can you just give me a minute with Meredith?"

He frowned, but left the room anyway. She heard his footsteps disappearing down the hall, toward the elevators. Meredith was staring at her, uncertain, as she put her coat on.

"Is it just me, or is he freaking out?" Meredith asked.

"I just need to calm him down," Cristina told her.

"Because that worked so well last time he got like this."

"I can handle him, Mer. Chill out."

"I think you said that last time, too."

"_Seriously_." Cristina went to the door, wishing she could stay in there a little longer. She had been sleeping in that chair for two days, listening to Meredith snore like a grizzly, and it was strange to leave her now.

Meredith shook her head. "I swear, if he hurts you-"

"He's not. He just wants to show me a house."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Don't tell anyone about this, okay? Just… stay there and do motherly stuff."

Meredith didn't respond. She only set her jaw, determined. Cristina left her there, steeling herself as she joined her lover at the elevators. He already looked more like himself. He only had a little edge in his actions, a little frustration in every step. She knew it would fade away, like always. He would be fine in an hour or so.

Or she really hoped he would.


	57. Surreal

**Surreal.**

**February 19, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was pleasantly warm inside, only a few days after they had flipped a decrepit power switch to get the place running. It had been almost a decade since it had been occupied, and it showed. She could hear the humming of the central heat all over the house, and every vent had spewed dust for several minutes before finally running dry. Even the walls were ghostly, going from beige to white with a little bit of tough scrubbing. She tired too easily to do it now, so ghouls spread up to the ceiling – she had a hard time explaining the stains to Collin, so she stuck with ghosts, like he suggested. She had ghosts on her walls. She had ghosts living in her new house.

Other than the layer of dust, the place was a steal. It had gotten caught up in a legal struggle that ended with it being sold at half its value. It was sprawling, from the front door, opening into a foyer, to the bedrooms on either side. Each one had paneled doors with crystal windows running from the bottom to the top. Beyond the foyer, to the right, the kitchen rolled into the living room, and the living room rolled into a hallway with vaulted ceilings. Down that hall, on the right, was the master bedroom, and on the left was the bathroom, with access to one of the first crystal-door rooms. The stairs were attached to the living room, leading to three more bedrooms and another bathroom at the top. It only had a little landing to walk around on, and those bedrooms were small compared to the ones downstairs, but it added to the rich blood of this property.

Cristina had walked in on wood floors, to a cold, civil-war era house. She had to wear slippers everywhere – Owen vowed to carpet the whole place, wall to wall – but after living in the trailer she felt like a flower unfurling. She could finally stretch her legs without kicking the refrigerator.

Her son was thrilled with it, if only for the boxes piled up in one corner. While he unpacked and repacked one of them, giggling like a maniac, she began to realize how little she really had. Owen lived the same way. Between the two of them, they barely had enough to fill one room, let alone this whole house. And it was certainly empty. None of the rooms had furniture, save the king bed in the master bedroom, the miniature bed in one of the crystal rooms, for Collin, and the couch she was sitting on at the moment – and, thankfully, the couch reclined.

She could not be doubtful, though. She had to be positive. Owen was out back, darting around with his little tape measurer and writing things down on a little slip of paper, obsessed with building a playground for Collin and the twins, and she knew it only took one little negative thought to send him spiraling. He had gone through a small meltdown at the furniture store, when the couch he had really wanted was out of stock. Cristina had to force herself to be positive about this big, slowly warming house, aware of even the simplest misgivings evident in her expression. He picked up on them. He was very good at that. She had been uncertain about breakfast that morning, and he had thrown it all in the trash and started over from scratch.

It was almost three. Right about now, Alex would be at the school picking up Zola and Sophia to bring them to their mothers. Meredith would be feeding the twins, maybe putting more fingerprints on the incubator. Shane would be – what time was it in Switzerland? – either sleeping or going to work. She was unsure of the time conversion.

She was stuck on the couch, her feet up, staring at the wall and considering going through the same magazine a fifth time. Her phone was eerily silent. She only had the muttering of Owen to listen to, and he kept cycling through the same thoughts, so it was less entertaining than the magazine. She wondered if Collin could learn how tap dance. She wondered if that stain above her head was permanent, and if it was a bloodstain. She watched an ant make his way from one side of the floor to the other, and then back again. He ended up dead under Collin's thumb.

"Please don't eat that bug," Cristina said, pointing at him. She waited until he wiped it off on his pants to drop her hand. He looked guilty. "Keep packing, sweetie. Go on."

Her phone rang.

She laughed a little at the face that popped up. She had taken a picture of Alex when she had gotten to Seattle, and the long-hair look was just not suiting him. He looked grumpy and out of place. It made her giggle every time.

"Evil spawn? Please tell me you have something exciting to tell me."

"Huh? John's parents were asking for you today. They wanted to talk to you about his surgery or something. I told them he was recovering perfectly, but apparently you're the only one they trust. Not like I'm a pediatric surgeon or anything."

"What did they want, exactly?"

"They didn't say. They wanted to know when you'd come out to talk. I told them you'd probably want to talk on the phone, since you're near your due date."

"No, no, I want to do it face-to-face. More personal." _And I need to get out of this house before I start eating bugs like Collin._ "Are they still there? Are they leaving tonight?"

"They brought KFC. I think they're in it for the long run."

"Great."

"Are you sure? The way Mer tells it, you can barely stay on your feet these days."

She hesitated. She had made that excuse when Meredith asked her about coming back to the hospital. She had not been back since Owen had whisked her away to see the house. She had been here, the furniture store, and out to eat since then, but she had mostly been on this couch. He had offered to drive her there a few times, but only halfheartedly. She could feel his anxiety emanating from every word. It showed in the way he hovered, the way he slid closer to her at night. He stirred from four nightmares the night before, screaming like someone was shearing his skin off. His terror was the reason she stayed. He seemed content to have her here, and she wanted him to be calm. She hated to see him on edge like that.

She couldn't explain it to Meredith, so she lied. She pretended she didn't have any energy and that she would rather stay home. She pretended that Collin was tired and fussy. She was the only one who understood this situation, the only one who could help Owen.

And his words made her realize that despite how stir-crazy she was, she had to stay here.

"Cristina?" Alex asked.

"I, uh, yeah. I should do it over the phone."

"What happened to 'more personal'?"

"Mer was right. I should just… rest. You know."

"Is everything okay?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. Meredith had asked the same thing. It was like the two of them were working together. It was possible. She suspected it for a split second before realizing she was being paranoid. She had been indoors too long.

"Everything is fine. Give them my number."

He was silent for a moment, and then his voice came back a little strange. She was unsure of his tone. "Do you mind if I come out and visit Collin? I never gave him that stuffed animal I promised him from the gift shop. He likes horses, right?"

Her neck prickled. "Uh, no. He's napping."

"When he wakes up, then."

"He's being a real pain today. Just… later, okay?"

"Cristina-"

She hung up on him, and then stared at the phone, biting her lip. She had no idea how Owen would react to a visitor, and she hated Alex for suggesting it. Now she worried he would show up out of the blue, and Owen would lose the little bit of peace he had found in the yard.

She struggled off of the couch, slamming it shut with the power of her thighs. Collin looked up from his boxes, frowning, and she waved him on. "Stay there, buddy. I'll be right back, okay?"

She went to the back door, which led into the laundry room. Owen was visible through the screen door beyond. He was way out back, in the massive field that surrounded their new home. He had told her it was the reason he had bought this place. He loved a good yard. She went onto the back porch, crossing her arms against the cold, and watched him from the railing. He was writing on his little paper, staring at the ground like the jungle gym was already assembled.

He noticed her after a few minutes, glancing backward by chance. He smiled, and then frowned, jogging up to her. His boots made a hollow sound against the wooden porch.

"Hey, what're you doing out here? It's freezing."

"I was just… hey, Alex was going to stop by later." She backed toward the door, seeking the heat of the laundry room. "I just wanted to give you a heads up."

His frown deepened. "Oh, okay." He opened the door for her, stepping inside as well. He crossed his arms. "What, did you think I wouldn't be okay with that? Why are you acting so…?"

"I'm not, I just wanted to let you know."

"Okay. Thanks. I guess."

She shrugged. "Okay, then. Be nice to him."

"When am I not nice to him?"

"You were yelling at the crabgrass earlier."

"It's invasive, I was just-" He broke off, smiling. "You caught me. I'll be nice." He watched her for a moment more, and she sensed his curiosity. He seemed uncertain as well. She never liked seeing that childish upset in his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

She braced herself. "Anything."

"Am I…? Do you think I…? I'm trying not to be…" He sighed. "I wish I could find the words. I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk."

"You're not being a jerk."

"I was yelling at crabgrass."

She chuckled, and then forced herself to be serious. He needed her mommy voice. "You went through something horrible. It doesn't leave you after a couple of years, not even after a decade. It stays with you. It stayed with you. That's not your fault."

"I feel like I should be… when I get angry I just…"

"Hey," she put her hand on his shoulder, stepping as close as she could with the twins resting between them. "I can take it, remember?"

"I don't want you to have to take anything."

"But I do. I want to be with you. I'm happy with you. Collin is happy with you. We can work on it. We'll work on it."

"I can't go back to therapy. I can't go backwards."

"You don't have to. We'll figure it out, okay?"

He nodded again, staring inside. "I should go get something to cook tonight, if we're having company. How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?"

She leaned over to kiss his cheek, glad for the little glimmer in his eyes. He was still himself. He was having a moment of perfect clarity, and she was basking in it. Being out in the yard, out in the cold, with only his tape measurer and that stupid paper must have really cleared his mind. He was no longer thinking about the tragedy that they had narrowly avoided with Meredith. He was no longer thinking about the scarred baby in the incubator.

"Sounds great. Let's all go to the store. I need to waddle around for a little while, stretch out my thunder thighs. We don't want those suckers sticking together."

He opened the interior door for her, following her into the house. He was laughing as he put his arm over her shoulders. "You don't have _thunder thighs_. I love your thighs." He pulled her jacket from the back of the couch, helping her into it. "Collin! Hey, buddy, we're going bye bye." He grabbed the littlest jacket and waited, wrestling it onto the toddler when he came limping around the corner. He crouched down beside him, putting his arm around the boy, and whispered, "Tell your mom she doesn't have thunder thighs."

"Thighs!" Collin chirped in response.

"See? He agrees with me," Owen said, scooping him up in one arm, turning him upside down, and tickling him in one smooth motion. He dropped him on the couch, provoking hysterical laughter. "He _agrees_ with me," he said, digging his hand into Collin's stomach until the kid was red.

She could not help her smile, seeing the two of them together, when there was a time she imagined they would never meet. He had mentioned putting in the papers to adopt Collin the night before, after waking from one of those vicious nightmares. He wanted to go ahead and sign their papers, too, so they would be a married couple again. He wanted everything to happen quickly, because he thought they could all lose each other at any moment.

She felt the same way sometimes.


	58. Confide

**A/N: Happy birthday, Beth!**

**Confide.**

**February 19, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was dark outside. She kept her eyes on the window instead of focusing on the men on either side of the table. It was tense and quiet, and only the sound of their plastic forks scraping paper plates, and the occasional yell of a toddler in the other room, penetrated the air. Her guest, who had invited himself only an hour ago, was sitting on her left, and Owen was on her right – since pulling up the storage containers, the two men had been staring at each other, sizing each other up like territorial dogs. It would have been funny, if the situation was less flammable. Owen was on the edge of growling, staring suspiciously at Alex, and Alex had squared his shoulders like he was ready to duke it out. She was too pregnant to come between them, and the police response to their new home had to be more than five minutes. If they decided to fight, for whatever reasons Alex sensed, or for whatever delusion flitted into Owen's mind, they could do real damage to each other.

She disliked the silence, particularly because they were all sitting so close to each other. It was strange, to try not to look at people who were six inches away. Owen had taken this table right out of the trailer so it looked out of place in their expansive kitchen. All of that space, empty because they barely had anything in this house, and they were all huddled together like this.

She was glad Collin was in his room. He was blissfully unaware of their guest, and he had no idea that the man he idolized was grasping a fork like a combat knife. Owen had, so far, only acted normal around the baby. She was grateful for that.

She decided to break the silence when her plate was almost clear. She knew they would run out of food to poke at, and she wanted to be in control of the conversation. She didn't want Alex to accuse Owen of anything, or Owen to bluntly ask him to leave. She could feel the two of them brimming on those words. "So… how goes the playground planning?" she wondered.

Owen shrugged. "It's going."

Silence.

She looked at Alex instead, clearing her throat. "How is John Baxter doing? Have you seen him today? Is he looking better yet?"

Her friend used a dry tone, and directed his words at Owen. "John is great. You should come see him. He talks about you every day. He thinks you abandoned him."

Owen beat her to the response. "She should rest for now."

His tone was sharp. It made Alex clench his jaw a little. "I think she should decide that for herself. She can go wherever she wants."

"She did decide that for herself," Owen responded flatly.

"Did you?" Alex wondered, his tone a little more urgent. He was looking at her now.

She shrunk back on her storage container, taking another bite of spaghetti to give herself a moment to think. She ended up shrugging and staring into her food, preparing herself for the storm that was about to move into her little house.

"What are you trying to say?" Owen asked.

Alex kept his eyes on Cristina. "Answer me."

For a moment it seemed that Owen would let his hostility see the light of day. His jaw was clenched and he gripped his fork so hard that he could have snapped it in half. She knew it was more than their dinner guest that upset him, but Alex was here, so whatever came out would fall at least partially on him. Cristina had hoped to avoid that. Alex had no idea what was going on here. He had no way to empathize with Owen, and he was not on the list of people that Owen was unwilling to harm. He was putting himself in danger.

He was saved by the sound of Collin coming out of his room. He hobbled down the hallway, dragging his stuffed superman doll with him, and looked at the three of them. Cristina watched carefully as he approached Owen. He put his little hand on Owen's thigh, making sad eyes and tugging his pants. He wanted someone to play with.

It was amazing to see Owen relax. His shoulders settled, the scowl left his face, and he dropped his fork. He slid from his chair, scooped the little boy up, and planted a kiss on his cheek. He still gave a hard look to their guest, but it was far less threatening.

He took Collin to his room, and as the door shut she heard her son giggling inside. It brought a hesitant smile to her face. Collin took the edge off for Owen. He was simple, and sweet, and when the two of them were together his anxious mind was temporarily soothed. Cristina wished she could be the catalyst for that, but she was also relieved by his absence. She had to worry less about what she said, and how she behaved.

"Come see John, talk to his parents," Alex said, interrupting her moment of Zen. He spoke in a sort of whisper, leaning over the table. He had not dropped his aggressive posture, but he was the least threatening thing in the house. "It'll only take like an hour."

She poked a meatball around her plate. She wanted to see John. She had put a lot of effort into that little boy. She wanted to see the life flow back into his body as his heart pumped at full capacity. She wanted to watch the progress of his veins as they grew under the influence of more and more oxygen. She wanted to see him brighten up. But she could not think of herself now. She could not leave Owen to go through this alone. She could not abandon him.

"Owen is right. I should rest."

"You look fine to me."

"Looks can be deceiving."

He sat up a little, snorting. "I see that."

"Just drop it," Cristina said, finally catching up to her meatball. She cut it in half, and then started mashing it into mush with her fork. She felt like being destructive.

"Since when do you let _Hunt_ make the rules for you? What is this, the fifties?"

His words lit a flame in her belly. He was right. She was the one who made the rules. She was the top dog. When life gave her lemons she squeezed them into the eyes of her enemies. So what was she doing here, staring into her spaghetti, afraid to speak up in her own home? What was she doing walking on eggshells again, like in the darker days, like when she had been young and afraid? How had she let herself come back to the same place?

Owen was so afraid of going backwards, but he didn't realize they were already at the beginning again. He couldn't see past his fear, and she couldn't point it out to him, for fear of triggering him. Alex was right to call her out on it. He was absolutely right.

She hated that. She struggled to get off of her container, slapping the hand Alex offered. She went to the back door, straight onto the back deck, and leaned into the railing, taking a few breaths of cold air to get her mind to settle down. It was dark out, but the moon illuminated the ruts in the ground, created by Owen's pacing. She traced them, around and around, to calm herself.

"Look, I get that he has issues," Alex said, pursuing her through the back door. He had her coat in his hands, and he held it out for her. He spoke as she shrugged it on, his voice gentle and persistent. "I get that. We all have issues. But he can't just keep you prisoner here because he's scared you'll start popping babies out. That's crazy."

"I'm not a prisoner," Cristina responded. She was surprised by how quiet her voice had become. When had she stopped yelling at him?

His tone became sharper. "You look like a whipped dog, Yang."

She stared at him, outrage bubbling up. It was all she could do not to hit him. "Screw you! You have no idea what's going on here. _No_ idea."

"Enlighten me."

"Just go home, Alex. Leave us alone. Leave me alone." She turned, about to go back into the house, but Alex stepped in front of the door. She glared at him. "_Move_."

"Talk to me, or I'm talking to Meredith."

She ground her teeth. "What do you want me to say?"

"You said I had no idea what was going on here. So freaking tell me. You used to have no problem whining about every little thing that happened to you. What's so hard about it now?"

She huffed. "I don't want to do this right now."

"I've got all night."

"If Owen sees this he'll freak out, just move, _please_."

Alex cocked an eyebrow, thoughtful, and then he stepped to the side. He braced his hand on the doorframe instead, leaning in to speak quietly. "Come with me to see John. Owen will survive an hour without you. Just come with me, get out for a little while, and then you can live in denial all you want. Deal?"

She swallowed. She thought of the violent nightmares that brought Owen to a standing position every night. She thought about his constant checking up on her, the way his eyes got when he was thinking too much. Her concern for him overwhelmed her desire to leave.

"You have a responsibility to John. It's just one night," Alex insisted.

She finally nodded, if only to fulfill that responsibility. He was right about that. She had spent a long, long time caring for that little boy, and now he was coming to the end of his struggle. His parents deserved to talk to her, and she deserved the satisfaction of saving his life. She needed it, after all of this pain. She needed a little something to make herself soar.

"Let me talk to Owen. Just… wait in the car."

"Are you sure-?"

"He's not a monster," she snapped. She hated it when people assumed things about Owen, because they had no way of understanding him. Meredith always thought he would harm her, but she knew that that was the last thing he would ever do. Alex seemed to be on the same wavelength.

He seemed uncertain, but he jogged off the deck anyway. She heard his truck start up in the driveway. She stood there for a few precious moments, considering what she would say, and how she would deal with Owen if he started to panic. She would have to get Alex to leave.

She walked slowly to her son's door, tipping it open to watch them play. Owen was carefully arranging action figures around the room for hide-and-seek, and Collin was pretending to cover his eyes, studying each place Owen hid the tiny figures. When Owen sat back down, the little boy jumped to his feet and limped around the room, giggling as he gathered them up again.

"Owen," she said quietly, half hoping he wouldn't hear her.

He looked up, grinning, "What's up?"

"Can I borrow you for a sec?"

He got to his feet, grabbed Collin, and tossed him onto the bed. "Be back in a minute, buddy. Your turn to hide them." He came into the hall with her, cracking the door. He was still looking in when he spoke, still smiling at their son. "What do you need?"

"Well, John's parents had some questions for me," she began, doing her best to sound casual. "I'm gonna head out with Alex to meet with them. It shouldn't take too long."

He frowned. She sensed his mood plummeting. "Why can't you talk to them on the phone?"

"I owe them this," she reasoned. "I should be back before bedtime."

"Are you sure you should-?"

"I'm sure. I'll be back soon."

She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, and then she made for the door. She hoped his good mood would carry on in her absence. If he had Collin, he would be alright. He would be alright for at least an hour. He had to be.

"Uh, okay. Be careful."

She looked back as she pulled the door shut, her heart twisting at the sight of him. He had gone from exuberant to devastated in just a few seconds. His eyes seemed to sink in. He looked like he was waking up from a nightmare again, pulling her closer, desperately, in the middle of the night. She shut the door on that look, and it hurt her to do it. He would not lose himself the moment she was gone. It wasn't that simple. He would worry about her, and worry about his anxiety, and he would drive himself to shutting down. His intense fear of losing control was what always led to it. She forced herself to go, though, and tried to believe what Alex had said. He would be okay. She would be back soon.

She felt cold inside as she got into Alex's truck. Owen peeked through the window at them a few times as Alex took them down the driveway. She hoped Collin would get bored and demand his attention. It would take his mind off of everything, and let him be peaceful for a short time.

"Did he go nuts?"

She glanced at Alex, briefly transferring all of her frustration onto him. He was the reason for that look Owen had given her. "Don't talk about him."

He shrugged. "I just don't get why you're so complacent around him. I've known you longer and you still treat me like-"

"Like an evil spawn, because that's what you are." She flipped the vents toward her chest, trying to stave off a chill. "I'm not complacent. He's going through a hard time."

"Right. And treating him like an un-medicated schizophrenic is going to help him."

"I don't… do that." She glared out the window, realizing he was right. She hated it when other people were right. "Owen is… you don't understand him."

"He's just freaked out about having kids."

"It's more than that," she growled.

"Explain it, then."

"It's not just… it's not just a normal fear. Owen… he loses himself in it. One second he's fine, he's laughing, he's joking about being a dad, and then the next second he's screaming at the corner because he thinks he's still in Afghanistan."

Alex was silent for a moment. His voice came back quieter, gentler. "How often does that happen?"

"That… that serious, it's only happened once. Yesterday. But I can see him going back there sometimes. If he gets frustrated, like if the puzzle pieces won't go together, he'll just leave. He just starts walking. He goes into the woods. When I'm not there, it's worse. So I just… I stay home. He calls when he's at work – almost every half hour – just to make sure I'm there, and that I'm okay. I wish it was as simple as you think it is…"

"He needs help."

She knew that already. She let her head rest against the window. It was pleasantly cold to her budding headache. "He says he won't go backwards. I don't know what to do."

"Tell him to get over it."

"Gee, Alex, why didn't I think of that?"

"I mean, if you have to go back, go back. Screw it."

"He doesn't see it like that."

"Make him see it."

"Could you just focus on driving? I'm so tired of this conversation."

"You already know what I think. So fine. Whatever." He turned carefully onto the next road, toward the hospital. He was only quiet for a split second. "But seriously, if you let this go on he could end up killing you. That's where I see this ending."

She thought about slapping him, but she had a better way to take him off of the topic. "What about you and Mer? You're so eager to scold me about my personal life, what about yours?"

He was silent, staring ahead, his jaw clenched.

"Okay. I see how it is. You can bring up anything you want, trample all over the man I love, tell me he's going to _kill me_, and you won't even talk about your little boy crush on my best friend. You are such a hypocrite. You know what, stop the car."

He continued on, saying nothing.

She banged on her door. "Stop the car, Alex!"

"I'm not stopping the car!" he snapped, putting on a little speed to spite her. "And we're not talking about Meredith. There's nothing to talk about."

"I've seen you making those big doe eyes at her. You go over there every day. You spend all your free time with Zola and Bailey and you look guilty when you leave! Do you know why you feel guilty, Alex? Because you're married. Maybe only for a month, but you're still married. You feel guilty because you're cheating in your head."

His jaw locked a little tighter. "I have nothing to feel guilty about."

"I believe you. That's why you're so tense right now."

He peeled into a parking spot at the hospital, scowling at her. "You have no right-"

"_You_ have no right, and yet here we are." She unbuckled her seatbelt, but stayed in the truck, unable to get herself out of this conversation. "I barely have a family. Mer is in the hospital and she has no idea what's going on. Owen isn't himself, and I'm scared to death to tell my _best friend_ about it! You only have a few friends, and most of them just _tolerate_ you. Your family sucks. Your wife is pissed at you half the time, only she doesn't know why yet. Face it! You have nobody! That's why we're here tonight. I'm the only one you could stand being around right now because I don't make you feel guilty! And you're the only one I can talk to about Owen!"

He was about to snap back at her, but the fire died in his eyes. He sat back in his seat, running his hands over his head. He took a few deep, angry breaths, and they soon faded into the silence. His expression, those dark, emotive eyes, had the beginnings of tears in them.

She sat quietly, too, staring at the hospital they had both been raised in. It was their true birthplace. It was the real world. It was where they had been broken and rebuilt a dozen times. It was the right place to have this conversation, to realize these things about each other. She had yelled at him out of anger, out of frustration, but every word rung true. She really had no one else she could talk to. She had no one else who remotely understood this situation. And he had no one, practically from the beginning. He was coarse, harder to get along with. He had work friends, but no one to put their arms around him when the world started caving in. Jo was off-limits. He must have felt so bad when he saw her. Cristina wondered how that pain played out in his head. He had been so unlucky with love. It had to drag him down. It had to put a veil over his eyes.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," he said at last. His voice was husky. He resisted crying, slamming his fist into the wheel instead. The horn sounded off, echoing in the vehicle.

She had to reset herself, to find her kind voice within her anger. She was mad at him. He had forced her to admit what was happening in her house, when she had been resolved to never speak those words. Despite that, she felt for him. She loved him. He was just another screwed up product of hospital that had tried to kill them all.

She put her hand gently on his arm. He flinched away, but she held on. His muscles were coiled so tightly that she felt them shimmering under her fingers. "I know it's corny, and you'll hate me for saying it, but the best thing is to be honest."

He looked over, briefly, and shook his head. "Jo would… that would break her heart."

"I don't care about Jo."

He frowned at her.

"I'm being honest. I couldn't care less about her. I don't care about a lot of people. I only care about a few, and you're one of them. And you're all mopey and sad, so screw Jo."

"It's not her fault."

"I know. It's yours."

"I thought you were trying to make me feel better."

"I'm not. Screw your feelings. You fell in love with another woman and you still married Jo. You're a dumbass and I'm ashamed to know you. But I want you to be happy. So be honest – with both of them. If you want to be with Mer… even though I think it's gross… go for it. If she turns you down, well, at least you tried. But don't stay with Jo because you feel obligated. That hurts more, trust me. It hurts way more."

He ran his hands over his head once more, sighing.

"Do you love Mer?"

He swallowed. "I… she's my best friend."

"You're hopeless." She patted his arm. "If you're not sure, give it a few months. If your puppy dog crush gets cured, we'll never mention it again."

"Don't… tell Meredith about this, okay?"

She was tempted to shatter that hopeful look on his face, to betray that trust he was putting in her right now. She was still angry with him, still miffed that he had been at her home today. But she had never seen him look at her so innocently, so youthfully. She couldn't break that.

"I won't say anything. And don't tell her about… you know."

He nodded. He took a deep breath, glancing up at the hospital. "You should go see Mer. She's worried about you."

They both slipped out of the car. Cristina moved slowly, and Alex walked beside her, though she knew his pace was usually triple this fast. She appreciated not getting left alone in the dark.

"You're a horrible friend," she said to Alex as he helped her make the leap up the curb.

He snorted. "Right back at you, Shamu."


	59. Depth

**Depth.**

**February 21, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He only had a vague idea of where he was. It was two hours past midnight, behind enemy lines, under magnificently bright constellations he had never seen in person. He could identify them by name and determine which direction he should be headed in, but his body wasn't cooperating with his training. He was dazed from the blast of a landmine, unable to hear, muscles and bones sore from an endless march through the night and the abrupt change that had flung him into this clearing. He had run in this direction because it was the only path available, the only escape from combatants and small, vicious fires. He was on his back, his eyelids drooping as the shock of battle gave way to exhaustion. Cold air entered his open wounds and dried the blood on his pants. He'd used the pieces of his shirt to tie off the wrist of a fresh amputee, the victim of a bear trap, hours ago, so his chest was exposed to the wind. He reached around himself and smeared mud all over his belly, gasping at its temperature, but relieved when it warmed him slightly.

He was only lying there for a few minutes, but it felt like hours in this condition. His hearing slowly returned, allowing him to survey the silence; was it the silence of defeat, or victory? Were his comrades resting, or lying on the ground with their throats slashed open? His mind began to clear and he was able to sit up and look around. No one had followed him here; the black mud was dotted with flaming leaves, but no boot prints. He was bleeding from his head, his collar, and his thigh, and his right ankle was swelling painfully.

Finally he remembered what had happened to him. It was an ambush, expected but unavoidable. He was in a country where guerilla warfare dominated. Firing rounds into the trees would only waste bullets. The only sure way to kill someone here was to get very closer to them, and that required either a large amount of expendable forces, or a small amount of elite soldiers. He was here to track down one of those elite squads, to give aid where he could, to deliver them to safety if that was still an option. He had failed his mission.

He could remember walking on the trail through a low scrubland, apprehensive of their dangerous surroundings, hoping to hear the sound of his comrades in the brush. Other units, combat units, were moving on opposite sides of the area, trying to draw the fire of the combatants. It was a straightforward plan and it should've succeeded. But there were always risks. Hundreds of bullets fired into the night, clipping him in the leg and bringing down a good number of his team before they could react. Those who remained standing engaged in cat-and-mouse combat with the enemy, dodging the random sprays of bullets while keeping their vital organs protected from knives. Owen had been stabbed in the shoulder and stomach, but the real injury had come when someone stepped on a mine and blew them all sky high. He was fortunate enough to be behind a few other men, avoiding the brunt of the blow, but shrapnel had slipped through and lodged itself in his torso, and the blast had thrown him away from his allies.

But now the forest was so much quieter. He began to hear people moving around in the brush, speaking accented English amongst each other. Owen staggered to his feet, his hand clutching the wound on his stomach, and headed away from them, coughing out a few mouthfuls of blood. He was digging out a hiding spot when he heard the ominous humming of planes in the air.

Drones. Death from above. He had no hope, after all.

He ran with everything he had. He had brought little into the forest aside from his gear – little hope, little training, and little motivation to put his life on the line. He was barely deployed, with less than two months of experience in the military, and virtually no experience in combat. He was a trained doctor, not a soldier, and yet he found himself here.

He put everything into his run – the months of basic training, the crash course in adaptive medicine, the impressed nods he got from his commanding officer, the fast track commendation that had brought him to this hellish place – and even as the desperate escape began, even as his boots smeared in the mud and his muscles tensed against overexertion, he knew that he wouldn't make it.

It was instinct, pure and simple. He had developed a sense for danger early in life. He could gauge the state of his house from two blocks away armed only with a pair of binoculars. He could tell when he was walking into a dangerous situation, and he could weasel his way out of it. He knew what malice felt like – he had an intimate history with it – and it was surrounding him now.

He ran in a full sprint, dodging vines and jarring his legs in muddy pitfalls dotting the forest floor. Bullets sprayed like fresh rain through the leaves, piercing every leaf, splintering every tree trunk, and turning mud puddles into spitting warning signs. He stopped within the bullets, ducking back against the trunk of a hefty tree, and pressed his body into it. He ignored the urge to run, the urge to find cover, and stayed right where he was – exposed to the combatants, but hidden to the drones.

He took short, gasping breaths, trying to control his fear. He had developed the ability under the scrutiny of a schoolyard bully. Occasionally when Owen looked dangerous enough on the outside – even if he was quivering in his boots on the inside – the other kids would relent and back off.

It took a few more seconds for the militants to track him down. He saw them coming through the trees, forming a line and searching carefully, waving powerful automatic weapons from side to side as they swept the forest. From what he had been told – which, at his level, was very little – he had expected these guys to be unorganized hooligans with a penchant for terror. He had not expected to see them in tight ranks, moving like a trained team with little margin for error.

One of them spotted him and raised his weapon, whistling and pointing out his position to the others. He could see them scoping him out, trying to figure out why he wasn't running for the hills. He wasn't quite sure of that himself.

He held up his hands, letting his fear surface for a moment, and he reached down to unclip his belt. It sunk to the ground, taking his gun and his knives with it. Two combatants broke out of line to come toward him and the line reassembled itself. The remaining soldiers fanned out a little more to compensate for the missing members, and they passed right by, continuing their search.

Owen stood face-to-face with two jacked commandos, regretting his decision to join the military for the first time. His inspiration had come from the decimation of his homeland, the images on his television of New York covered in ash, and now, suddenly, he was face to face with the people who had organized it. He had never been so afraid. He could feel the fear wrapping around his heart. He felt that it would never leave him.

The one of the right, a black-skinned hulk of a man holding an assault rifle with both hands, used the barrel of his gun to tip Owen's chin up. He scowled and said something in another language. Owen recognized the dialect as a local one, but he had heard very little of it while mending the soldiers in their base. His job was not to learn the local language – though he wished he had.

"Wait," he said, his voice trembling. He knew he sounded like a kid, but he tried to force an edge into his words. "D-D-Don't kill me. I'm just a doctor. I'm a doctor."

Hulk looked at his friend, a lanky, tattooed, bulldog-faced man, and scowled, but this time there was no malice in the expression. He did this out of obligation, not for enjoyment. Owen was nothing to him. Owen looked away, putting everything he had into keeping the tears out of his eyes. He thought of anything but this moment. He thought of everything, except for a face full of lead. His mind went, strangely, back to his father, and he wished he was young enough to cower behind his boots. He would know what to do. He would protect him.

He heard two gunshots, muffled by the sound of his heart beating in his ears, and his attackers fell to the ground. Blood sprayed over him, entering his next panicked breaths, and he searched the trees desperately for the killer. He would be next. He knew it.

And then he saw their faces – American troops, in army camo, jogging through the trees with their guns raised. It was one of the other squads, the elite combat unit that had originally gone east.

Owen sank down the tree trunk, suddenly losing feeling in his legs. He could not quell the fear in his heart, or even dim it. He realized that he should not have come here, that this place was a poison he would never recover from, that this world was not his world, but it was too late. He was in too deep. He stared at the dark forest, at the trees dotted with bullet holes, and prayed for it to end.

**XxX XxX XxX**

He shot awake, sitting straight up in bed. His skin was hot, and the fan beating overhead did little to cool him down. He could barely take a breath without his throat closing up a little more. Briefly, it felt like he was dying, like he was choking on the sand that had permeated his nightmares. He could not still his heart, or ease the convulsions in his chest. He could not stop himself from shaking like he had that day, huddled against that tree trunk.

He waited for a long time. His breathing returned to normal and the flash of fear in him was quelled. His lover was still asleep beside him, undisturbed by his awakening, and the room was eerily silent save the ticking of his watch, which lay on the floor. He wiped his sweat away with the sheets, shoving them backward to give his skin some air. The cold gave him clarity and helped him escape from the darkness. It was his only comfort.

Cristina groaned around midnight, shifting her legs around. She looked back at him, her eyes barely open, and whispered, "Owen?"

"Go back to sleep," he said, reaching over to carefully tuck her hair back over her shoulder. He pulled the covers up to her neck, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He couldn't help but linger there, breathing her in, to further ground himself in reality.

She hummed softly and turned back toward the wall.

Owen slipped out of bed, doing his best not to jar her. Every movement gave her discomfort this late into her pregnancy. He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face, reeling when he turned the light on. He shut the door as quietly as he could, hoping to let Cristina sleep all night, just this once, and turned to the mirror.

He stared at himself – not the man who had just rolled out of bed, but a younger man in dusty camo pants. He looked ghostly and afraid. Owen became trapped in his eyes.

"This isn't real," he said to himself, touching the cold glass, disturbed when the soldier touched it as well. He could almost feel their skin colliding. "You're not… you're not real." He ran his finger in an arch across the glass, and then flattened his hand on it. His counterpart felt warm, like the desert sun. He was starting to smell gunpowder.

He made a quick move for the door, shutting off the light before he opened it. He was just tired. He was seeing things because he had barely slept these past few days. With his anxiety getting worse, and his nightmares becoming more realistic, he could barely keep himself in the real world. He must have been imagining things, trying to make himself go back to sleep.

But he stood in his room, barely seeing anything now that his eyes weren't adjusted, and looked toward the bed. He knew where it was, could see pieces of the outline, but he would not go to it. He could not stand the thought of having that nightmare again.

He went into the living room instead, tripping over a few toys and cursing his way to the front door. He was shrugging on his coat, fiddling with the zipper, when he caught another glimpse of his reflection in the glass of the window. He had his camo coat on this time, and that hat. He was wearing the purple heart he had been presented with on the day of his discharge. He could remember if very clearly – he had torn it off and thrown it down somewhere. He had no idea where.

Before he knew it he was driving. He took a few unfamiliar roads, but still ended up in a familiar neighborhood. His subconscious drove him to the house he had grown up in. He parked on the curb, cut off the car, and stared at the yard, wishing he could go back to a time when this little patch of grass seemed to be the size of a football field. It was simpler then.

He could see it now, as plain as day, even though this part of the world was cloaked in blackness. He was a child again, free of nightmares, free of fear, running around the yard with his father chasing after him. He still had his Air Force uniform on. He was still smiling.

"How did you do it?" Owen wondered. He could practically feel those dog tags in his hand, the last remnant of his father, given to him by his commanding officer on a dreary summer day. His father had been troubled the day he had left, the last time he had ever walked out of their front door, but before then Owen had barely sensed his distress. He wondered how he had hidden it so well. Owen needed that skill. He needed it desperately.

He was driving again, with purpose this time. He went to the cemetery, one of the staples of his young life, and jogged into the center, where his father's tombstone sat among a couple dozen local heroes. Their plots were distinguished by the American flags standing proud nearby. His father was near the center, undisturbed for some time, surrounded, perhaps, by the people he had died alongside. Owen had attended this burial, but it felt like a million years ago, in a different world. He had changed so much since then. He had become too much like his father.

It was below freezing outside, but he barely noticed. He kneeled beside the grave and placed his hand on it, shutting his eyes to say a brief prayer. His mother had instilled that habit in him. He felt weak suddenly, though, and he sat back, letting his warmth seep out through the soil. Again the cold made him feel better. It made him feel safer.

"Is it because the desert was so hot?"

Owen jumped, staring, open-mouthed, at the man walking toward him. He looked just like he had before, his hands balled into a thick coat, his eyes shining in the moonlight, his hair perfectly groomed on his head. It was a sharp contrast to the last time Owen had seen him – spewing blood, his limbs flailing, his eyes shooting in every direction.

"Sorry," Derek said, taking a deep, smooth breath. He came a little closer, looking down at the grave. "You know, my dad was buried in a place like this, up in New York. He got full honors, too. I guess my mom will, one day."

He was beyond himself. Owen could not understand what he was seeing. It was stranger than the soldier in his bathroom mirror. It was too real. It was incredible.

"I guess it's the cold," Derek said, continuing what he had been saying earlier. He finally came to the grave, crouching down on the opposite side. He put his hand on the cross to steady himself, his eyes flicking over the words carved in stone. "You were out there in the desert when you lost yourself – when you _really_ lost yourself. So the cold makes you feel better. It reminds you that you're not there anymore."

"H-How are you…?"

"I'm not." Derek smiled a sad, sad smile. "I died." He shifted back to sit down, mimicking Owen's position, and toyed with a blade of grass. He watched it while he spoke, and his voice echoed like a dream in Owen's mind. "I stopped to help someone, and I lost my life. I can't be there for my family anymore." He scratched the back of his head. "Still have a headache, you know. It never goes away. She was so little. You wouldn't have thought she could hit that hard."

Owen was mystified. He picked up his own blade of grass, moving it through his fingers, trying to figure out if it was real. "What do you mean? You were in a car accident."

"You saw those contusions on my skull." Derek glanced up briefly, his dark eyes shining, and then he smiled. "Point is, I lost my chance. And look at you. You have all the time in the world, and you're out here, talking to a dead guy."

"I had to… clear my head. Contusions?"

"You had to get away for a little while, and you did. But you didn't solve anything. You need therapy, Hunt. It brought you back last time, and it can do it again."

"I can't go backwards." Owen was vehemently opposed to the idea. He had no intention of going back to where he had begun. "I can handle this. I can fix this." He was starting to feel spacey, but his mind kept jumping back to the same thing. "What about the contusions?"

"It's not about what you want," Derek said. His voice was gentle, like he was talking to one of his patients. It was like they were back at that hospital in Zurich, when Cristina had fallen into that sinkhole. It was like he was reassuring Owen all over again, reminding him how tough that woman was, and bringing Owen back from the brink of panic.

He had no choice but to listen.

"It's about what you need," Derek went on. "It's about what Cristina needs, and it's about what Collin and those kids need. So do it. Go back. Go all the way back if you have to. Just make sure when you get back to your family, you're the best version of yourself. You owe them that."

Owen gave up on trying to see through whatever illusion his mind was forming. He gave up on trying to fight it, and let his head hang. "I'm afraid that I can't… come back from this."

"You can. You will."

XxX

Owen woke a second time, but he was still now. He lay on his back, not sweating, not panting, and stared at the ceiling. His mind was twisted up in knots, but for the first time in a long time he felt like himself. His dreams had been convoluted, and they were becoming fuzzy now, but one thing was painfully clear – and finally the idea didn't terrify him.

He sat up, pulling his phone from beneath his pillow and thumbing through it. He had deleted the number years ago. He could only vaguely remember it. He searched online instead, coming up with a new office, in another part of Seattle. It was still the same doctor, the one who had brought him back the first time. His finger hovered over the number, one he used to know so well. Whatever had been holding him back before was gone now.

He called. It rang, and the voicemail picked up, asking him to leave a message.

He took a deep breath. "Hello, uh, Dr. Wyatt? It's Owen Hunt. I wanted to, uh, schedule an appointment. As soon as possible. Call me back anytime, on this number."

He hung up and stared at the phone, wondering what he would say when he got to that office. How could he explain what he was feeling to Dr. Wyatt when he couldn't even explain it to himself? Regardless, he was thankful he had made the call. It made him feel better, just knowing that message was out there. He hoped it would be over soon.

He hoped he could be himself again.

As he drifted back into sleep, already dreaming up dialogue for his meeting with the therapist, Owen recalled something. It was a fragment of a memory, a glimpse of an X-ray he had seen as he rushed into a hospital room on an awful, horrible day. He remembered something from his dream, words that would not settle, words that transcended his peaceful dreams.

_She was so little. You wouldn't have thought she could hit that hard_.

He flipped over, hugging the pillow to his ears, but the words continued to come through. He saw the face that had haunted his dreams, only this time Derek was covered in blood. He was dying. He was convulsing on an operating table.

_You saw those contusions on my skull_.

Owen sat up, suddenly painfully awake. His heart raced. He stared at the wall, but in his mind he saw the same scene playing over and over again. He looked at the X-ray, at the man on the table, and everything he knew began to shift around.

He murmured to himself, his words coming directly from his dreams.

"Derek… was murdered."


	60. Parallels

**Parallels.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He gathered them all into a little box and sat in an empty conference room, holding the contents in his lap for a few moments before taking anything out. He stared at the final charts, the last words written as a friend of his died. It was the last account of his life. He had come in with multiple fractures, his body mangled so badly that he had to be identified by the wallet in his back pocket. His eyes were described as burned, but mildly responsive. His replacement for his time away at the conference had been the one to access his mental status, and he had determined him to be brain dead on arrival. He had come to them a shell, and died less than an hour later on their table.

Owen remembered that day. He started pulling folders out, his mind on the bloody mess he had seen as he came into the room. Car accident. He could remember how surprised, how horrified, he had been when one of the paramedics had taken the wallet from his back pocket. It had pictures of his kids in it, smeared with blood. If he could have gurgled anything with that broken jaw, it would have been their names. Owen was sure of it.

He had to pause at the autopsy, where the injuries seemed much neater. Everything was written out and meticulously labeled on a generic human model. His arms had been shattered. The medical examiner wrote that it was the result of him putting his arms up defensively as his car was hit. His face had gotten the worst of it, probably from the same action that had broken his arms, but it was the back of his skull that interested Owen. He could see the fractures as clear as day, radiating from the external occipital protuberance. It was the kind of wound that results from a blow to the back of the head, not from a car accident. Someone had struck him – hard – before he was brought in. Owen found the line written by the examiner about that wound. She had attributed it to the crash, writing 'miscellaneous trauma' on the human diagram.

"Who did this to you?" he wondered to himself, holding the X-ray up again. He stared at the fracture lines. "You said… I must have seen a contusion when I came in to help. These fractures look like they healed… maybe a day before the accident."

He looked up when someone knocked on the door.

Webber smiled uncertainly as he came in, glancing around. He had adopted a youthful appearance in the recent days, as he spent most of his free time doting on the twins upstairs. It made him kinder, gentler, in many ways. So when he saw Owen there, going through medical files in a room that he should not have been in, he only smiled. "Um, are you here for the budget meeting?"

He was glad that the older surgeon was happy. Otherwise this could have ended badly. "Oh, sorry," Owen responded, hopping up and throwing the files back into the box. He shut the lid, doing his best to act like he was doing nothing wrong. "I was just going over paperwork."

Webber came around the table, yawning. He sunk into a nearby chair. "Ah, the infamous paperwork excuse. Were you looking at girly magazines? I won't tell anyone."

"Just paperwork. The boring kind."

"Well don't rush off. I'm early for the meeting, anyway. I could help you with this '_paperwork'_ of yours. I am more experienced, after all."

Owen took the box under his arm and went around the other side of the table, waving at him as he got to the door. "Maybe some other time. Have fun at your meeting." He pulled the door shut behind him, resisting the urge to sigh with comical relief. It could have been much worse. He had no idea how he would explain what he was doing. If he told anyone the truth, if he made his suspicions known, would he be accused of being insane?

He went downstairs, resolved to look further into the accident that had claimed the life of his coworker. He was convinced that the fractures on his skull were meaningful. Derek was not the type to get into a bar fight, and if he had, Meredith would have known about it. He would have sought medical help for a wound like that. He had a bad feeling in his gut, an unsettling idea about what might have happened that fateful day. Had someone purposefully tracked Derek down to kill him? What could Derek have done to trigger such violence?

He was deep in thought when he noticed who he was walking toward. She was coming down the hallway, hunched over a little as she walked, but her eyes shone brightly. It was the first time since the birth of her daughters that he had seen Meredith out of bed. She was followed closely by Alex, who spoke quietly and urgently to her, and Bailey trailed behind them, so deep into a tiny video game that he would have walked off a cliff if his mother wasn't guiding him. She spotted Owen immediately, a brilliant smile lighting her face.

"Hey, Owen, look at me! I can see my feet again!"

He glanced at the morphine drip that Alex was pushing alongside her. Someone had definitely given her a happy dose. He did his best to look happy, but he had a box full of paperwork detailing the grim nature of her husband's death in his arms, and the last thing she needed was to see it. It would break her heart. He held it to the side a little as he approached.

"Congratulations on seeing your feet again. I know Cristina is excited for that."

Meredith glanced back, making sure Bailey was still there, and then she grinned at him again. "Oh, oh, make sure you bring Cristina to visit, so she can look at my feet with me. Is she still tired? Can I go visit her?" She looked sideways at Alex, but didn't give him enough time to answer. "I can visit her. I feel like jogging there. I can't even feel my torso!"

He laughed. It was nice to see her so peppy, even if it _was_ drug-induced. She had no idea how dark the subject matter he had studied this morning was. She had no idea what he thought might have happened to her husband. He just kept smiling with her.

"I'll bring her by to see you later," he promised the exuberant woman.

She continued smiling for a few seconds, and then she frowned at him. It was such a sudden change of emotion that he thought, somehow, she had read his mind. "Why are you so glum?"

"I'm not… glum." He forced a smile, grimacing when he realized it came out a little strange.

She started shuffling past him, patting his shoulder. "Just remember, you could always have massive internal bleeding and get a radical hysterectomy."

"I'll remember that."

He watched them head to the elevator, aware of the hostility pouring from Alex. He hadn't spoken to him since their unfriendly dinner, when he had whisked Cristina away to the hospital. It had been hours before she had returned. Owen would have gone to get her, but he lost himself while playing with Collin. He still would not forgive Alex for his trespass – for butting into his family business like that – but Cristina was safe and happy, and that was all that mattered to Owen.

He signed into the record room, flashed his badge for security, and went to work putting the files back where they belonged. He lingered on the X-ray, caught up on the fracture patterns, but he eventually slipped it back into its place.

He already had his next destination planned.

He had grown up with one of the senior members of the downtown fire department – the same department that would have responded to Derek's accident. Ralph was a year younger than Owen, and an even better target for bullies, so when he had moved up to middle school he had gotten a harsh welcome. The two of them bonded over their shared hatred of learning. They had split when high school ended, when Owen went to medical school and Ralph went to the community college.

Owen parked at the fire station, stepping out to look it up and down. He had been there once, when Ralph had bragged that he would own the place one day, but there he was outside, spraying down one of the trucks. He had gained a hundred pounds and grown a beard, but he was still the same person. It was evident in his eyes.

"Would you look at that," Ralph said, cutting off his hose and shielding his eyes from the sun. He beamed at Owen. "Would you look at that hotshot surgeon at _my_ fire station!"

Owen approached, smiling. "I don't see your name on the wall, Raf."

"We took it down. It was too precious to risk gettin' dusty." Ralph pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ground, coming over to give Owen a bear hug. He had always been a hugger, something Owen had hated growing up. Ralph spoke with the reverence of an old friend, and his voice was a comfort. "How ya been, old man?"

Owen had spoken to him on and off during college, but when he left for the army, everything changed. He had a hard time reaching out afterward. It felt wrong to go back to his old life when he felt like a completely new person.

"Been better, could be worse," Owen responded, pulling away to get a look at him. "You're too thin, buddy. You should eat more burgers."

"Yeah, me thin. Just like you bein' too dumb, huh?"

Seeing his friend again brought back warm, nostalgic feelings. Ralph had been the one to get him through the death of his father, befriending him only months after Owen had attended that dreary funeral. He brought an indiscriminately friendly light into the world that Owen aspired to mimic. He had done his best to be kind to everyone. It was partly what had driven him to be a surgeon.

Ralph noticed the darkness in him, like always, and got straight to the point. He clasped Owen on the shoulder. "I suppose your house ain't burning down. What do you need?"

"I would have come by sooner…"

"Hey, look, we're not gonna boohoo about how you never called. Just tell me what you need, and I'll help you however I can."

Owen nodded. Ralph had not changed over the years. "I was looking into a car accident that happened nine months ago. I hoped you would have some kind of report… something I could look at to make sense of it."

"We get a lot of car accidents."

"He was one of my friends. Derek Shepherd. He was driving a black SUV out in the country, headed in from the mountains."

Ralph nodded, frowning grimly. "Sorry about your friend. Come on in with me. We can try and find it. Just don't tell anybody I let you look at this stuff."

"Thank you."

He followed Ralph into the station, where a few more firefighters were playing cards around a small table. Ralph went into a little back room and started looking through the filing cabinets. He looked up from his search. "When was it?"

Owen sat at the table beside him. "August 15th of last year."

He thumbed through the folders again, and then pulled one and flopped it onto the table. He grabbed a chair and sat beside Owen, throwing the folder open. He scanned one page at a time for several minutes, until Owen was squirming in his seat, and then he pulled one of the pages free. He looked it over again, a determined frown on his face.

"Looks like this is it. Black SVU. It got t-boned off a little cliff, barely in our jurisdiction. It says it took them half an hour just to get down to him, and then another hour to get him hoisted back up to the road. They did a preliminary investigation of the crash, found white paint on the driver's side door. Someone in a white car ran your buddy off a cliff."

Owen took the paper. He read the same things that Ralph had said, but they were much more ominous in his head. He looked at the pictures of the crash, the ruler sitting next to a smear of white paint on the door. He could not fathom that Derek had died there, among the scrub bushed.

"Why were you looking into this, anyway?"

Owen sat back, holding one of the pictures in his hand. It was of the driver's seat, smeared with blood, right after Derek had been rescued. The image resonated with Owen.

"I found an unexplained injury on his X-rays. I wanted to see if this had anything to explain it… anything in his car that might have caused it."

"What injury?"

"The back of his skull was fractured, like he had been hit with something."

"Well they inventoried the car."

Owen glanced at the list, shaking his head. "This would have to be something solid, like a baseball bat or a metal bar. I also think… I think it might have happened before the crash."

"What? You think someone chased him down and killed him?"

Owen hated hearing it out loud. He imagined Derek being attacked. He saw him getting into his car, just trying to make it back home. He saw a white car coming quickly behind him. He saw it slamming into Derek's SUV and flinging him off the mountain. And he saw it slipping away into nothing. He saw the driver getting away with it. It made him angry.

"You should go to the police with this. I'll back you up with the report. We could get them to look into it, you know. Or to look into it a little more. It's not just a hit and run if somebody chased your guy down. That's murder."

"I have to go talk to a friend first. I want to make sure I'm right about the fractures."

Ralph considered the photo in his hand again, and then looked at him. His voice was gentle. "You know, it won't bring him back."

"He shouldn't have died like this."

"I'm just saying-"

"I know," Owen interrupted. He put his hand on Ralph's shoulder, wishing he could express how grateful he was. It was hard to get such a powerful emotion out when his mind was clogged with thoughts of death. "Thank you for this. If you ever need anything, you come to me."

"Anytime," Ralph responded.

Owen went straight back to the hospital, the image of the bloodied seat alive in his mind. He must have looked a little crazy when he caught up to Callie in the break room. She looked startled, holding her salami sandwich up like a weapon.

When she realized he wasn't going to start throwing chairs, she relaxed. "Owen? What the hell, man? I almost bludgeoned you with my lunch!"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask your advice on something."

"Did you ever handle that… problem we talked about?"

"I called the therapist. He hasn't called me back. That's not what I'm here for." He backed toward the door. "Just come look at this X-ray for me."

"Can I at least eat my sandwich?"

"Bring it with you. Come on."

He led her back to the record room, where he pulled the X-ray from its little storage compartment. He slapped it onto the viewer and popped it on, positioning Callie in front of it. She looked flustered, taking a big bite of her sandwich, and then she squinted at the skull illuminated on the screen. She ticked her tongue.

"Okay. This guy got _messed up_."

"Did all of the injuries occur at the same time?"

Callie squinted again, taking another bite of her sandwich. She spoke through her food. "Uh, no. Looks like those occipital fractures were there before the breaks in the jaw and the face. Somebody whacked this guy pretty hard, at least a day before – you know."

He nodded. It was what he had seen. He knew he wasn't crazy now. Callie specialized in bones. She knew everything about how they healed, how they fractured. She had confirmed his suspicions about Derek's death. It was not a simple car accident. It was much more sinister than that.

"Owen… whose head is this?"

He took a deep breath. "Derek Shepherd."

She dropped her sandwich, leaning in closer. Her eyes were wide. "No freakin' way. No freakin' way that fracture came from a car accident. Where the hell did that come from?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Callie was in her own world. She poked the screen. "Seriously. How the hell did a _neurosurgeon_ get hit in the head this hard and not go to the hospital? He would have had a nasty migraine."

"I think… his accident wasn't an accident."

"Someone did this to him," Callie said, placing her hand on the glowing screen. She scowled. "Oh, there will be hell to pay. Somebody is going to get their femurs broken."

"I have to find out how this happened first," Owen told her. He pulled the film from the viewer, tucking it back in its place. He stooped to pick up the sandwich, tossing it in the trash. "I want to go to the police, if you'll tell them, as a specialist, that this fracture is not from the crash."

"Hell yeah I will."

He was glad she was agreeable, but he still felt uncertain about this. Would the police believe what they had to say? Would they write it off as a simple bar fight? Would they deny that there was even enough evidence to declare his death a murder? Owen hoped they would. They had to. Otherwise whoever had done this would walk away free – what if they came after Meredith next? What about the kids? What if their beef wasn't just with Derek, but with his entire family?

He would find out what had happened. He would find justice for the ghost who had come to him in his dreams, the man who had been taken away from his children and his wife. Owen drew a parallel between them. He saw himself being killed. He saw Cristina forging her own path, alone.

He would never let that happen.


	61. Water

**Water.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She woke, habitually, as the sun was going down. It poured through her bedroom window, a vibrant shade of orange, and warmed her face. On any other day she would have turned away from it, groaning, and demanded that Owen put boards up over the window, but she felt better today. She had slept through the night. She squinted at the carefully arranged covers beside her. For the first time in days Owen had not woken up screaming, and instead of wandering off on his own, Collin was sleeping soundly beside her. His nap time had gotten a little long on this peaceful winter day. She was going to pay for that later in the night, when he refused to go to sleep.

Cristina dragged herself upright, groaning. "Owen?" She had not heard him return, but she was hopeful. He usually came running when she called. Before calling for him a second time, she ran her hand over his pillow and came back with a little note he had written. He said he was taking care of some kind of business. It was annoyingly vague.

She wandered around the empty house, scowling at boxes – which had been dispersed sometime during the night to make the place look full. She suspected Owen had noticed how abandoned their home looked. She ended up in the kitchen, staring into the empty fridge, on the verge of starving to death. Just the other night she had wished he would leave the house like this, letting his business return to normal despite the watermelon protruding from her abdomen, but now that he was gone she wanted him back here. She wanted him doting on her, or at least cooking for her.

She started turning lights on, leaving them on as she went from place to place. She ignored the upstairs because she could barely make it up ten steps without swaying dangerously backward. Collin had developed a funny little habit the night before. He went into every room, walking straight into the dark, and then he started crying. It was hilarious and pitiful. So she kept the lights on for him at night, until it was bedtime. He seemed satisfied with it. Every few hours he would stop what he was doing and hobble all around the house, just checking up on things. He was like their little security guard. Much less amusing was his habit of peeing in the corner of his room. She had no idea how that one had started, but she always blamed Owen when it happened.

Only an hour after waking up, she slumped onto the couch and dialed his number. He would at least have his phone on him. His crazy protective behavior couldn't flip off _that_ fast – or could it? Or perhaps he had finally lost his mind and he was wandering around on the highway.

He answered almost immediately. "Cristina? What's wrong?"

Hearing his voice sent a pleasant feeling to her heart. He sounded like himself. His voice was urgent, rushed, but it was pure Owen. "Oh, sorry, were you busy?"

In the background, a door closed. "Well I'm… in the middle of something here."

"Oh. Something at work, or…?"

"It's work-related, yeah."

She frowned. Owen was not the vague type. He was usually very direct. She had always attributed it to his time in the military. It was strange to hear him speak in that tone, giving as little away as he could. She was immediately suspicious, but she was also cautious. If he was finally coming down from the fear that had trapped him for over a week, she did not want to jeopardize it.

"When will you be home?" She kept it simple, and let her tone betray nothing.

He cleared his throat. "Um, probably in an hour or two. I'm not sure. Traffic is really backed up. Do you need something? I could come back now. I shouldn't have left you there alone with Collin."

"No, I'm fine." She rolled her eyes when her stomach growled. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna call Alex and see if he'll drive us to the hospital to see Mer."

"I could drive you."

"Owen, it's fine. Just text me later, okay?"

She could practically hear him giving her the puppy dog face. "Are you sure?"

It took her a full minute to convince him that she would survive on her own. When she finally hung up, she heard racket in the background, and voices she didn't recognize. It made her wish she had stayed on, just to do a little snooping. Where could he be this late in the evening? Who was he with? What was he doing?

Her next call went to a much bristlier man.

"Are you calling to whine about Hunt? Because I'm really not in the mood."

She twisted her lips. She was tempted to start talking about Owen, knowing that Alex wouldn't hang up. She held his secret, and pissing her off was not a good way to keep it a secret.

"Come get me. I need food. I'm dying."

"Okay, for one you look like a freakin' whale so I know you're not dying. Two, why don't you get your crazy husband to get you food? And three, I'm not your servant."

"Owen is gone. I talked to him, but he won't tell me where he is. So I'm alone. I mean, there's a car outside but I'm dizzy all the time, so that's not advisable. And you _are_ my servant. I know who you have wet dreams about."

He sighed. "I could always tell Mer about Hunt."

"I think that problem might be solved. So I have leverage against you. And you have nothing. Now come and chauffeur me, servant!"

"When you're not pregnant anymore, the first thing I'm doing is punching you in the face."

"I don't hear you driving."

He hung up on her, and she smiled. His irritation fed her soul. She knew he wouldn't come unless he really wanted to. She knew that he cared deep down, and that the prickly exterior he always gave was hiding an underlying, squishier version of Alex. She knew it, and yet she still tormented him. It was the first thing that day that really made her feel like herself.

She went back into her bedroom, dragging her son out from under the covers and throwing him over her shoulder. He groaned, kicked her in the boob, and then slumped back into his dreams. She dumped him on his own bed, shuffling through his drawers to find something acceptable for him to wear to the hospital. Now that Meredith was in a regular room, he could visit. He could meet the little girls he would be spending most of his young life with.

"Collin, come on. You gotta work with me here." She flipped him over, yanking his shirt off. He started to make his crying face. "Hey, no crying. Only I get to cry in this house."

He frowned at her, trying to flip over and escape.

She planted one hand on his stomach, pinning him down. He screamed once, flipped his legs around, and then relaxed, staring into her eyes. He put his hands on her thumb, trying to pull it away. "Nice try," she said, releasing him for a second to throw a new shirt over his head. She pulled it down over his arms before he had time to make another escape attempt.

He finally got away when she tried to put his pants on. He rolled right off the bed, slippery as a little eel, and started hobbling through the house. Cristina hobbled after him.

"Stop being a bad seed!" she called, though his antics made her smile. He giggled as he ran around the couch. He knew she moved too slowly to catch him. If she tried to run she would probably lose her balance and eat it. "I'll sell you to the circus!"

Her back door opened. Alex stepped inside just in time to grab Collin and swing him around in his arms. He held the kid out so Cristina could finish dressing him. He had a smile in his eyes. "You should really lock your doors. I'm surprised Owen didn't bolt them shut."

"He isn't _that_ bad. You're so dramatic."

"Says the woman wearing teddy bear pajamas, chasing a half-naked toddler around her house. It's like you're _trying_ to trigger labor." He grabbed her arm, urging her backward toward the couch. He put the kid down, letting him run wild once more. "Sit down."

She shrugged him off, though she was starting to feel dizzy. She sunk onto the cushions, laying her head back. Collin paused, his hand on her knee, and whimpered at her.

"I'm fine," she said to him, dropping her hand lamely on his head. "Go play. We're gonna go bye-bye soon so pack your toys up."

Alex returned with a wet rag, watching Collin limp into his room. He placed the rag on her forehead and took her wrist in his hand. He was checking her pulse, occasionally glancing at his watch. "Your pulse is elevated."

"I'm pregnant, my pulse is always elevated. Can we go now?"

He crossed his arms, sitting down beside her. "Once you come down below 120, we can go."

"I'm not at 120," she muttered.

"Count it yourself."

She put her fingers to her wrist, feeling around for a moment. Her veins were hiding deep within her skin tonight. She counted the beats, using his watch to gauge the time. She came up much higher than 120, but she kept her mouth shut.

"Fine. Whatever. Did you bring food?"

He got up, stretching his arms out over his head. "You know, I just got off work. I should be sleeping right now. But I'm here, babysitting you. You should be nicer to me."

"Oh, gracious savior, did you bring me food so that I might sustain myself?"

"Shut up. I'll get it."

She laughed, relaxing into the couch again as he left the house. She was starting to feel her pulse in her forehead. She hadn't thought she was doing much by following Collin. She had to be more careful in the future. She was already dizzy, already nauseous. She didn't want to add 'in labor' to that list of problems. She wanted her twins to have this last month to grow up, so they would be perfectly healthy when they arrived. She didn't know what she would do if something happened. She didn't know how Meredith had survived it.

Alex returned with the food and dragged a storage container up to the couch, creating a table for them. Collin wandered in at the smell and she gave him a little bag of apples to munch on. He had a weird habit of eating like a squirrel when he had fruits.

"Where is Hunt, anyway?"

Cristina spun her spaghetti around in the little plastic container, yawning. She shrugged at his question. "I called and he said he was doing something work-related."

"Think he's cheating?"

She scowled at him, restraining herself before she stabbed him with her spork. "Owen wouldn't do that."

"I thought he did already."

"He wouldn't do that _now_." She stabbed one of her meatballs. "And what is with you and spaghetti? Every time I see you we're eating spaghetti."

"It was Hunt's idea last time."

"Well you should've gotten something else."

"Stop whining. I could've let you starve."

"Fine. I don't want to talk about Owen." Cristina grabbed her dish and sat back with it, letting it rest on her belly. "Did you see Mer today?"

"Yeah, few times. She's fine."

"Are you still… like… in love with her?"

"Do you have to say it like that?"

"How am I supposed to say it? You're pining over my best friend. She's like my sister. And you're like my annoying ass brother. So it's weird to me." She munched for a moment, letting that sink in. "So are you? In love with her?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, I want to talk about something. I've been alone all day with a toddler. He only speaks English when he wants to."

"Has Hunt been gone all day?"

"He left early this morning."

"I saw him at the hospital. I was walking with Meredith. He had a box or something – he was going to the record room with it, I think."

She frowned. "And you didn't mention this sooner because…?"

"I thought he was working."

"He's off today."

"Well that's the only time I saw him. He's really been gone all day?"

"I thought he would be back by the time I woke up from my nap." She thought of the vague note on the pillow. "I think he stopped by for a second, but I didn't see him."

For a while, it was silent in the house. Every now and then Collin came back for more food, but he took it into his room like a little stray dog and munched on it alone. She could only eat a little bit of her meal before the heartburn took over and she just sat back and stared at the ceiling. Alex watched her, his careful eyes catching her every move. He was in doctor mode.

He took her pulse again after half an hour. He still looked uncertain.

"Has it been this high all day?"

"I didn't check."

"You're a doctor." He rolled his eyes, hopping up. "Where's your stethoscope? Your cuff?"

"Beside my bed. I'm just gonna warn you, my blood pressure goes up when you're nearby."

He snorted, disappearing briefly to retrieve it. He strapped her up and placed the diaphragm in the crook of her arm, where her radial artery was thumping. As the cuff inflated, her pulse began to quicken. She felt a sharp pain, uncommonly sharp, and flinched away from him.

He released the valve, letting all the air out and relieving the pressure. He looked surprised. "Do you have a bruise on this arm?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. I bump into everything."

"I'll do the other one." He switched arms, driving the cuff back to full inflation once more. It hurt, but she kept herself from moving this time. He slowly released the pressure, staring intently at the gauge. When he released it again, he was frowning. "We should go."

She yanked the cuff from her arm. "What did you get?"

"You're pre-hypertensive. I want to get Robbins to look at you. What have you done today? Anything rigorous? You said you took a nap – how long?"

She blinked. "Uh, nothing. No. I've been impersonating a sloth. Doctor's orders. I slept for… like five hours, I don't know."

"What were you doing, hibernating?"

"I have two kids growing in my body! I need sleep. Sue me."

He stood up, holding out his hands for her. "Come on."

She groaned. It took a little maneuvering to get up, but when she was standing she started feeling a little better. She tried to say something to Alex, but he cut her off, grabbing her keys and leaving again. He was probably stealing her car seat.

"Collin, we're going bye-bye."

She wandered outside, a toddler trailing her, and scowled at Alex's truck. "Oh yeah. I forgot you have to jump to get in this thing."

"Suck it up, Yang," Alex grunted, grabbing Collin and strapping him into the backseat.

She put her hand on the roof, put one foot up, and forced her weight forward, trying to make it to the edge of the seat. She felt an unpleasant tug inside. "Ugh. Alex. I think I need a Vander lift to get in this truck. Do you realize how much stomach I have?"

"Hold on. I'll come around and help you." He was at the driver's side, digging through the center console. He barely looked up.

She put her foot back down, bracing her hand on the seat. The truck began to spin around her. She tried to look up at Alex, or back at Collin, but she could only see the colors.

"Alex I think… I think something is wrong."

Suddenly she was on the ground. It was freezing and hard like concrete. Her vision cleared and she saw the stars up above them. Alex was leaning over her, shaking her, panic in his eyes.

"Cristina! Hey, stay awake! Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?"

She shook her head, her eyes weighed down. "I can't even… feel your hand."

She felt herself moving. Alex had picked her up – miraculously – from the ground. He set her in the passenger's seat, reclined the chair, and shut the door on her. By the time he got to his seat, she was starting to lose it again. She could barely stay awake, but she was no longer dizzy. She just felt exhausted. She felt that she needed to sleep for days.

"Hold on." She heard Alex talking, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. She heard her son whimper. "Don't worry. Hey, stay awake! Keep your eyes open! Don't do this to me, Yang!"

She finally managed to wake herself up. She lay completely still, a wave of nausea pouring over her, and did her best not to throw up in his truck. He seemed satisfied with her consciousness, so he stopped shouting at her. He started talking to Collin, reassuring him. Cristina shifted her head toward the window, staring outside, taking long, deep breaths.

She moved her hand to her stomach, wondering, briefly, if her short fall had harmed her children. She tried to diagnose herself, coming up with a few scary prognoses for her twins.

She glanced down by chance, magnifying her nausea, and saw a dark pattern spreading across her thighs. She felt it a moment later, a warm, soapy liquid. She heard it drip onto the floor mats. She swallowed hard and reached over, grabbing his arm.

"Water. Alex, my water broke."


	62. Missing

**Missing.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Owen stared out the conference room window. It was going to start raining soon. It was pitch black out, but the air seemed heavy. He could imagine those stormy clouds rolling over the city and pelting them for hours, adding to his commute home on the already crowded roads. People were flooding Seattle for some kind of concert – driving here had been enough of a hassle that he considered walking home. It was better than the gridlock in the street, even if he turned into an icicle halfway there. He had to be moving forward, one way or another.

He had been waiting here for almost half an hour, sitting patiently with his hands folded on the table. His phone was sitting out nearby, eerily silent. Since her call earlier, Cristina had not sent him anything. He would have worried on any other day, but today his mind was finally focused. He could think clearly on one topic without being drawn into the desert, without wondering if his lover was stuck on the couch again.

His companion was less patient. She thrummed her fingers on the table, sitting back in her chair. It made a loud squeaking sound. "Seriously, how long is this gonna take?"

"We just asked them to open a murder investigation," Owen said. Callie may have danced around the word when they got to the station, but Owen went straight for it. He was becoming more and more positive that Derek was murdered, and he needed to know who had killed him. Callie could not understand his persistence. He barely understood it.

She glanced at the floor. She was unsure. She had been so enthusiastic at the hospital, but when Owen had told the police what he thought had happened to Derek, she had become quiet. Perhaps the idea of someone pursuing him and pushing him from a cliff scared her, or perhaps she was considering how she would feel if someone did that to Robbins. Either way, she kept her thoughts to herself. She did not shy away from confirming the details about the skull, but she would not speculate with him. She only waited quietly for the verdict.

Officer Palm, the one who had taken their statements and delivered them to his superiors, came in when they were nearing a forty-five minutes wait. He set coffee cups in front of them, the same lively look he had worn earlier on his face.

"I passed the report up and the Chief agrees with you. Detective Swartz took the case. He'll go before a judge first thing in the morning and get the body exhumed so his body can be transferred to our morgue for an autopsy. I think he wanted to get statements from you guys to start the case file off, but after that we can handle it."

Owen looked at Callie, sensing her uncertainty. She was biting her lip. She was right to be unsure, because if they were wrong there would be serious consequences. Derek would be disturbed for no reason, his body sliced and diced one last time. Meredith would be traumatized by the very idea of someone murdering her husband. He had noted that instead of asking her for the exhumation, the detective had decided to go straight for the court order. She could not say no to that. She would hate them for it. She would find out, and she would loathe the two of them for a very long time.

He knew it would hurt her, and her kids, and the people who loved her, including Cristina, but Owen was not willing to back down. His resolve only strengthened. His hunch had been confirmed by others – by police officers and a detective – and justice would be found for his friend.

Callie cleared her throat, smiling a little at the officer. "Can I have a minute with my colleague?"

Palm nodded, crossing his arms. He was young, ad his words were rushed, but he seemed confident in himself. "Sure. Nothing will move on this until tomorrow morning, so you should both go home and get some rest. I know this is a bad situation, but Swartz is a good guy. He'll find out what happened to your friend."

When they were alone again, Callie took an anxious sip of her coffee, her eyes wide. "Holy crap…" she murmured. "Holy crap, what have we done?"

"Exactly what we set out to do."

She stared at him, incredulous. "Did you hear any of that? They're going to dig him up! Derek Shepherd! Meredith is going to… Oh, God, poor Meredith! We don't even know for sure! We should've… I don't know… I think we jumped the gun here."

"If someone killed him, we owe it to him to find out who."

"You sound like a movie. This is real life." She put her hand on her forehead, sighing. "Okay. _Okay_. Okay? I'll go talk to Meredith right now. It's best she hears it from her friends. Oh, wait, where's Cristina? We can make her tell Meredith."

He shook his head, rejecting that idea. He had not told Cristina about his suspicions. He would rather go to her when he knew the truth, not when he had a hunch about it. He wanted to keep her as relaxed as possible, for as long as possible. He felt the same way about Meredith. She should have been kept in the dark until they knew for sure, but it was impossible now. In the morning she would get a piece of paper telling her that the city of Seattle was digging her husband – the father of her children – out of his peaceful grave, and that they intended to crack his chest open.

"No. Leave her out of this."

"What the hell am I supposed to do, then?" Callie demanded. "We are responsible for this."

"No, we're not. Whoever killed Derek is responsible for this."

"Derek was our friend. He was a great guy. We just got him _exhumed_. Is this bothering you at all?" She stared at him, frowning. "Did you even really like Derek that much? I mean, you guys had it out a few times. Why are you so… weird about this justice thing?"

Owen hadn't really thought about it. His mind was zeroed in on finding the person who had done this – he was so fixated that he hated them, hated the idea of them. He had never explored his motivations, aside from the vague dream he had had in the midst of a night terror. He said the first thing that came to his mind, the best truth he knew.

"I was a soldier." He spoke lowly, crossing his arms. "I was trained to find justice for people who are unable to advocate for themselves. Derek _was_ my friend, regardless anything that happened between us. He deserves justice, and Meredith deserves to know why he died. Whoever did this… I'll find them. It's as simple as that."

"But it's not simple," she objected. "Get it through your _head_! If we're wrong, we're going to put Meredith through hell again for nothing. Don't you care about that?"

"Of course I care." He couldn't admit that he didn't care, because he was confident that he was right. He had to stem this anger in Callie, though, before she decided to grab a chair and whack him with it. "I care. I think it's worth the risk."

She twisted her lips, looking away. She was fuming.

Palm returned, smiling at them again. "Hey, guys, can you come out here? Swartz wants to talk to you. I think he wants to start looking into it tonight."

Callie shot Owen and glare and left the room first. Owen followed, shrugging at Palm, who seemed confused by that display of anger. Swartz was a towering black man with a friendly smile on his face. He had one of the desks near the window, sheltered a little by a half-wall build up to divide the room. Owen noted family pictures forming a ring around a pile of paperwork.

"Dr. Hunt and Dr. Torres, right?" Swartz asked, shaking both of their hands in turn. He directed them to the two chairs near his desk. "Have a seat. I just need you to write down what you told Officer Palm and sign it for me, so I can get this case file going."

Owen took the offered clipboard and jotted down all of his observations about the crash, signing at the bottom. Swartz watched them both, nodding. When the statements were written out and signed, he stapled them together and placed them delicately in a puke green folder. It was labeled with a case number. So far it was looking rather empty.

"We are in the very early stages," Swartz said, laughing a little. "Well, obviously, since we just opened this case five minutes ago. I'm conditioned to say that, I guess. I'm Terry Swartz – you can call me what you want. I'll be looking into the circumstances of your friend's death."

Callie squirmed a little in her chair.

Swartz glanced at her. "I just need to fill out some paperwork for the exhumation and I wanted to ask you about the day your friend – Derek Shepherd – was brought into Grey-Sloan Memorial."

"Sure," Owen responded.

Swartz nodded, leaning over his sheet of paper. He used his pen to scratch his forehead. "Okay. You said he was not autopsied."

"Uh, no," Callie supplied. "Cause of death was pretty… clear."

"Sounds appropriate to me," Swartz said. He moved to another line in his paper. "How was he identified when he arrived?"

"His wallet, in his back pocket," Owen answered.

"Okay… no other tests were performed to confirm his identity? Was he identified by a family member? By one of you?"

"His face was…" Callie paused, wincing. "His whole body was just… mangled. His car went down a cliff. Owen… er, Dr. Hunt… found his wallet in his back pocket and used that to identify him. And, uh, his car. It was his car."

"Okay, okay," Swartz responded in a low, placating tone. He jotted something down. "I want to do some checking before the morning. I have a hunch about this. I was in the area at the same time dealing with an attempted car-jacking. Now you said Mr. Shepherd was supposed to be at this conference – neurochemical something?"

"Something like that," Callie said.

He nodded. "When did the conference end? Was it over when he crashed, or did he leave early?"

Owen raked his memory. Derek had requested time off for that conference. Owen had jokingly accused him of using the time to go gambling. "I think it ended later that week. When he was… when he came in, one of our less experienced neurosurgeons had to work with him. We tried to get one from a nearby hospital but she was still out at the conference."

"Did he tell anyone he was leaving early? Why would he leave early, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Owen said. He almost told the detective to ask Meredith, but he had no intention of dragging her into this until tomorrow morning, when the hammer dropped on the exhumation.

Swartz sat back in his chair, nodding. "Well, like I said, we're in the very early stages of this. What I'll do from here is put together a time line of the day he died, try to figure out why he was on the road in the first place. If you two want to hang around, I might have more questions for you. I understand if you want to call it a night, though."

"I'll stay," Owen offered.

Callie stood up, like those words had freed her. "I have to get going. I have a five-year-old at home." She looked at Owen, thoughtful. "What about Cristina?"

"Cristina is with Alex. She's fine."

Callie gave him a weird look, and then she headed for the door. "Keep me posted. And charge your phone. I can still hear it beeping."

"Do you want a ride home?" Owen asked.

"I'm walking. Screw that traffic."

Owen sat a silent vigil, watching the rain fall while Swartz made over a dozen calls. Owen didn't know what hotel Derek was staying at in the mountains, so Swartz started calling all of them. He was a very determined man, admirable to Owen, who wished he could do more to help. He had not lost that spark of determination, even though the hunt for the truth had brought him to this excruciating standstill. He was still revved up.

"So, you were a soldier?" Swartz said after an hour had passed. He glanced at the phone in his hand. "I'm on hold with the Marriot. Apparently they're busy today."

"How did you know that?" Owen wondered.

"I heard you talking to your friend in the conference room. When did you serve?"

"Decade ago. I don't really…"

"I'm not trying to interrogate you," Swartz said, taking a sip of his coffee. His eyes were intense and probing, the opposite of the friendly demeanor he was trying to pass. "I wouldn't usually let people hang around like this, but my partner's on vacation, so… What about your friend, anyway? What made you suddenly remember that skull fracture?"

Owen took a long, slow breath. "I guess it just came back to me. What I don't get is why someone would do this. I know everybody says this about their friends, but he was a good guy. He has kids. He never got to meet his daughters."

"Some people are sick." He pulled the phone up suddenly. "Oh, yes. This is Detective Swartz with the Seattle Police Department. I'm calling in reference to a guest who stayed with you around August 15 of last year. Yes. That's fine, put him on."

Owen listened to the conversation, the same conversation Swartz had had with every hotel manager in that area, but the end caught his attention. Swartz had finally come upon the right hotel. He started asking questions, writing things in his notepad as he went. Owen could see the cogs turning in the detective's mind, and he had no doubt that he knew what he was doing.

"When did he check out? Okay. You didn't find that odd? What was found in the room? Where did it end up? Alright. No, we'll take responsibility for it. Did he seem upset or agitated when he left that night? Okay. Yeah, talk to him. I am actually on my way out there, so get your hands on Patrick so I can sit down with him. Well either call him in or give me his home address. No, I'm being serious. No, ma'am, I'm investigating a potential crime against Mr. Shepherd. Yeah, those would be helpful. Get that ready, too."

Swartz checked his watch.

"I'll be there by eight, at the latest."

Suddenly the towering man stood, shrugging on the rain jacket that had been slumped over the back of his chair. He jingled some keys in his pocket, retrieved a gun from one of his drawers, and chugged the rest of his coffee.

Owen stood up, too. "Can I come?"

"No."

"I can tell if he was acting abnormally."

Swartz snorted. "I guess that's true."

"It'll make your night a lot shorter."

"My night is already looking to extend into the morning."

"Please. I know this man's wife. If she has to get that exhumation order in the morning, so be it, but I want to make it worth it."

"It's an unofficial visit, so… whatever. Tag along."

Owen zipped up his coat. "What did they say about him, anyway?"

"He never checked out. He left one night like he was going out for a bite to eat, perfectly normal, and he never came back. His belongings are still at the hotel – his wife never picked them up."

"You mentioned a hunch earlier," Owen said, following him to the front door. He pulled the hood of his coat up as they entered the rain.

Swartz raised his voice to be heard above the distant roll of thunder. "I know it's a long shot, but what if your friend was carjacked? If would explain why they found the car, and the wallet, at the scene!"

"But if he was carjacked… that would mean…"

"That would mean your friend wasn't the one they pulled out of that car. That would mean we're not looking for his killer – maybe we found his killer."

"Or maybe it means Derek isn't dead! Maybe he's missing!"


	63. Brother

**Brother.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He stopped the truck, drumming uneasily on the steering wheel. He kept glancing at her, at her wet pants, and then laying on the horn like he could force the cars in front of them to move. Everyone was stuck in the same rattrap. It was only a ten minute drive to the hospital from her new house, even quicker if she was behind the wheel, but this could take hours. Cristina knew she did not have that much time. Something deep inside told her that their time was already up.

She tensed up with the pain of a contraction. It rolled through her, rising in intensity until she was forced to groan. She squeezed the armrest so hard she heard the leather screaming.

"Don't you dare!" Alex growled, slamming his palm into the horn again. "Do not give birth in this truck. I love this truck. I will never forgive you!"

"Do you want me to squat in the ditch?" Cristina demanded. She had a timer going in her head, and as the next contraction rolled around, she slapped his arm. "Okay, okay. We have time. I think we have time." Her hips started to burn. "No, no, I was wrong. I was wrong."

He cursed, throwing the truck in park and sliding out of his seat. He had his phone to his ear as he came around to her side. He pulled the back door open as well, sliding Collin's car seat to the opposite side. Before she knew it, he had reclined her. She was almost lying flat. It relieved the pressure in her abdomen, but another contraction came so swiftly that she sat up again. Alex placed his hand on her chest and forced her to lie back.

"Meredith took… _hours_," Cristina panted.

"I need an ambulance to the highway just outside the mall. My friend is in labor. Traffic is stopped as far as I can see." He started undoing her pants, forcing them out from under her. "God, how did you even get in these? Did you sew them on?"

She resisted the urge to hit him.

"Listen," he said, speaking to whoever was on the other end of his phone, "She has a high-risk pregnancy. I'm a doctor. I'll do what I can, but I need equipment – an incubator, warming pads, _anything_. I have nothing."

Cristina grabbed his arm, arching her back as a deep, pinching pain developed in her stomach. He dropped his phone, using both hands now. He rolled up his sleeves, digging through the glove box until he pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer. He started folding her pants into a rectangle, and then he grasped her thigh and hauled her up for a second, wedging the rectangle beneath her.

"We will never speak of this," Cristina hissed, and then her voice gave out and she whimpered. Her son was screaming in the back seat. "Oh, it's okay, baby. Hey, it's okay. I'm fine."

Collin was not convinced. He started wailing and kicking his feet, trying to escape from his car seat. She could barely reach him, but as she flailed around for him in the backseat she found his bag of toys. She lifted it up beside him, yanking out his blanket and draping it over his torso. He was going to freeze to death with all those doors open. It was at most thirty degrees outside. He grabbed the blanket and balled it up, crying into it.

"You just had to call me, didn't you," Alex muttered. He was probing around below, and she found it revolting. "You just _had_ to pull the Meredith card to get me out there."

She gasped, letting her head fall back. "You wanted to come you… lonely… son of a bitch."

"Focus on your breathing," he said, peaking at her over her colossal stomach. Somehow he spoke calmly, like he had done this a thousand times. "Shut everything else out. Focus on your breathing and push when you feel like you need to."

"I know what to do," she snapped.

His cheek pulled with an underlying smile. "Shut your trap and get to work, then. I don't have all night and it's cold as balls out here."

She did as he said, spending several minutes focusing on inhaling and exhaling. It was calming, until another contraction shot through her. He alternated between urging her to relax and whining about how cold it was, until she heard the foreboding roll of thunder in the distance.

"You have got to be kidding me," Alex said.

Cristina stared at the windshield, catching the first few raindrops. It only took a moment for a storm to start up. Soon it was pouring, crashing into the truck so hard that the sound of Collin whimpering was drowned out. Alex was forced to retreat, shutting her door and returning to his side. He closed them inside the car, cranking up the heat. He put both hands on her thighs, turning her toward him again. Her head was mashed uncomfortably against the window, but it was better than having her newborns get rained on. It was better than welcoming them into the freezing cold.

"We are not friends after this," Alex told her. He shrugged off his jacket, laying it out across the heating vents. Everything he did was full of purpose, and he never stopped moving. He must have had quiet the plan in his head. "Collin, buddy, I gotta borrow your jacket."

She felt like she would vomit, or split in half, but she still managed to scold him. "Don't take his coat. It's cold in here."

"Heat's on," Alex responded simply. He placed the smaller jacket over the remaining heat vents, and then used the hand sanitizer again, covering his hands and forearms. He shook them dry, edging closer to her on his knees. "It's time. Put your big girl panties on."

She groaned, giving a reluctant push. "You're right. We're not friends after this."

He laughed, hooking his arm under her leg and repositioning her a little. "Come on. I know you can do better than that. I've seen you push harder than that on the way to surgery."

"Screw you."

"You know, if you put half as much effort into this as you do into being an awful person, we would be done by now."

"Alex, I swear I will-" She lost her breath again, reaching for something to hold onto. She found his hand waiting and squeezed it, shutting her eyes. When she could finally breathe again, the pain was still through the roof, and the truck was shimmering a little through the tears in her eyes, but she was determined to get through this. She was going to meet those kids. She was going to be able to see her feet again, like Meredith.

It seemed that the final minutes went the fastest. Alex was there to deliver the first twin, wrapping it carefully in his jacket and setting it on the seat. Cristina was practically numb for the second one, and again Alex was the first to hold it, placing it delicately in Collin's coat. He cut the cords with a pocket knife, doused in hand sanitizer, and encouraged her through the final moments, until the contractions suddenly stopped, and she could see clearly again.

Cristina let her head fall back, listening to the newborns squeal like they were on fire. It was a comforting sound. Alex sat back on his knees, wrapping one of them in his arms and sighing. She had not seen his stress before, but now he let it show.

"No bleeding," he said, glancing at the backseat, where Collin was silently eating his blanket. He was staring at the two of them, flabbergasted. "Three healthy kids. I rule."

She smiled. She was out of breath, and everything hurt, but she desperately wanted to hold one of them. She was determined to meet them, after going through so much to get them here. She held her arms out. "Can you hand me a baby?"

"Boy or girl?"

"Doesn't matter."

He shifted the one in his arms, handing it carefully to her. "In that case, meet your new son." As soon as the baby was in her arms, he took the other one from the seat and cradled it.

She stared down at the kid, a wrinkly, red-faced mess with a tuft of black hair on the top of his head, and smiled. He was butt-ugly, but so beautiful. Even his shrill crying made her heart flutter. It was hard to imagine that he had been in her stomach a few moments ago, curled up alongside his sister, awaiting this moment, when the two of them would finally meet.

"I bet you were the kicker," she whispered, stroking his hair down with one finger. He was itty bitty, so small that Collin's jacket was like a parachute on him, but he writhed around strongly. "I bet you're the one who kicked the crap out of mommy every morning, aren't you?"

Alex laughed. "Come on, he just broke out. Have a little decency."

She smiled at him, experiencing the same warmth she had the night he had come over for dinner. She could admit to herself that she loved him. He was looking out for her, and she would look out for him – if he ever started giving birth in her car. Neither of them were good at communicating, and yet in this moment it was all there, out in the open, expressed through their eyes. Briefly, she understood what it felt like to have a brother.

"I'm not naming him after you," she said, breaking up in the moment in the only way she knew how. "I know Meredith likes to do that, but I will not bring another Alex into this world."

He grinned, shifting around until he could relax against the door. It was still pouring rain, still thundering occasionally, but through it Cristina heard the whirring of sirens. She laughed, unable to help how tickled she was by the whole situation.

"Dude, your truck is ruined."

He was looking down at the baby, her brand new daughter, when he responded. "I think it was worth it."

"Damn right." She watched the flashing lights of the ambulance getting closer, pausing, confused on the medium. Alex sighed, flashing his headlights a dozen times. The ambulance started coming toward them, bumping along the uneven grass.

"Seriously, though, you're paying for this upholstery."

"Are you gonna fall in love with me now? Is that what you do? Please don't."

"Okay. That's it. Get out."

"I'm not getting out."

"Ambulance is here. Party's over."

"It's raining out there."

"Yeah? Well it smells like afterbirth in here."

"Your bedside manner is atrocious."

He set her newborn down and left the car, coming to her side with an umbrella. Cars were shifting around, trying to make room for the ambulance creeping toward them. Eventually two paramedics hopped out with a gurney. Alex took the baby first, passing him and the umbrella to the first paramedic. "Here, get him inside." Cristina handed over the other twin, and Alex passed her to the second paramedic. "Wrap them up. I can get her."

While the paramedics left with her twins, Alex climbed into the back and unbuckled Collin. He set him down in the rain, using his baby voice. "Follow me and your mom, okay? We're gonna go over there to that ambulance."

Without warning, he scooped her out of her seat, rushing across the road to the ambulance. She could care less that she was flashing the other motorists – it was warm and toasty inside, and when Alex set her on the gurney, she got three blankets around her shoulders. He took a seat beside her, urging her to lay down while keeping Collin from climbing onto her.

The ambulance jerked to life, heading back into the medium. Cristina kept her head toward the front, where the paramedics were sitting on a little bench with her babies in their arms. They had proper blankets now, and for the moment their crying died away.

"Can you call Owen?" she asked, reaching over to tap Alex on the arm.

He patted his pockets. "Left my phone in the truck. We'll call when we get there."

"Okay. Just don't forget to call. He's probably worried."

He took her hand, appearing a decade older than he was for just a moment. His eyes were kind. "You can sleep now, if you want. I'll take care of everything."

"You're a good man, Alex."


	64. Wishful

**Wishful.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

It was a long, silent drive through darkness. Owen stared ahead, going through the possibilities in an endless, cyclic pattern. Derek was dead. He had to be dead. It had been six months since the accident. His wallet was in his back pocket. He was found in his own car. It all fit together. It seemed cohesive. It was harder to consider the alternative. He could not imagine finding his friend alive. He thought of discovering his body in the woods, or finding an unmarked grave where his car had been taken from him, but there was no way he had survived. He had a third, less specific feeling about it. If they were right about the man they had found that day being the carjacker, not the victim, it opened up a world of possibility. Owen let his imagination teeter on that, let it circle the outlandish ideas, the ones that did not fit into his world.

He managed to stay calm, though, with only those vague thoughts guiding him. He only wanted something _else_ to have happened to Derek. He only wanted to prove that the man in the car was not him. Beyond that he had no idea what he was searching for.

Four hours later, they came upon a bustling little town build around the convention center. It was in full swing, lights pouring into the rainy sky, music blaring inside. It was almost midnight, and yet the activity showed no signs of slowing. People passed in front of their car in big groups, laughing and smiling, dressed in glittery outfits. Owen had to crane his neck to see the end of the line to get into the center. Swartz smartly turned them down some side roads, away from the activity, and his phone started giving him directions to the hotel. She was displeased with their detour. Owen checked his own phone, sighing when he found a black screen waiting for him. It was dead. He had forgotten to charge it. Cristina was going to kill him.

"Well, it doesn't look like a medical conference," Swartz commented, leaning into the window to look at the lights roving the sky. "I guess questioning them wouldn't do us much good."

Owen set his phone in the cup holder, also watching the lights. It reminded him of something he had seen overseas, a tactic his commander had referred to as 'prism warfare.' Combatants would use diamonds to refract light, blinding aircrafts that flew overhead. Stations were set up all over the desert, tampering with the sensitive cameras stationed on drones. Seeing it now was ominous, because today was the first time in weeks he felt like he wasn't back there fighting.

"Hey, you okay?" Swartz asked, nudging him. He swung the car into the parking lot of the Marriot hotel, taking the first open spot. He shut down the navigation on his phone, frowning at Owen. "You ready for this? It can be… hard, looking into these kinds of situations."

"I know." Owen got out of the car, glad for the bracing cold outside. It shook the desert right out of his mind. He glanced at Swartz, who stood on the opposite side, and wished that concerned look would leave his eyes. "I'm fine. I've lost a lot of friends, identified a lot of bodies. If we find him… we find him. I just have to know. I can't let this go unfinished."

Swartz came around to him. "Just remember that you're here in an unofficial capacity, because I let you tag along. Follow my lead."

"Were you planning on cracking the safe while we were in there?" Owen asked.

He shrugged, jogging across the parking lot. Owen gazed at the highway, wondering if everything was alright at home. He knew he should have called – he should have borrowed Swartz's phone or called on the hotel landline – but he was so close. He was breathing the air that Derek had last breathed. He was standing in the place where, potentially, one of his colleagues had been killed. Or he was on the cusp of finding someone who had been missing for six months.

Inside they found the same activity they had in the streets. People swarmed everywhere in their bright, sequined outfits. Music boomed from a multipurpose room right beside the lobby. The hotel itself was fancy, made up of expensive carpeting, architecture that mimicked a Victorian home, and paintings that appeared to be one-of-a-kind, but the clientele were bordering on hilarious. There must have been some kind of circus at the conference center.

He followed Swartz to the front desk, leaning over it to avoid being trampled by a group of teenagers sprinting toward the elevators. One of the hotel employees was rushing after them. There was a young girl sitting alone behind the desk, looking overwhelmed by all the activity. She made him think of an intern, so mousy and afraid.

"Hey, sweetie," Swartz said, handing his badge over to her. "Can you call your manager please? I spoke with him on the phone earlier."

She nodded, handing the badge back. She looked between them like she was afraid they were going to rob the place. She hit a button mounted on her phone and licked her lips. "Uh, he'll come down in just a minute. I'm sorry for all the… noise."

"Circus in town?" Swartz wondered.

"Uh, no. There's a big party going on at the conference hall tonight. Seventies theme."

"Lovely," Swartz responded, flashing her a smile before turning back around. He curled his lip at a big crowd of girls that went past them. "It is twenty degrees outside. What the hell are they wearing? Can they even feel their legs?"

Owen snorted. "Free love, dude."

"Sorry. I have a teenager. I hate seeing girls walking around like that. I see some nasty stuff in my job. Could happen to any one of them, if they wandered off alone tonight."

Owen watched them leave, wondering if he was right about that. It had happened to Derek, after all. He had seen a lot of nasty things in his work, too. The soldier in him wanted to follow them, to escort the through the dark neighborhood to the bright lights of the party, but he stayed where he was. He owed his attention to someone else tonight someone who was potentially already gone.

Fourteen minutes after the call for him went out – Owen had developed a habit of checking his watch almost once a minute – the manager came power-walking out of the elevator. He wore a dark purple suit, accented by a beige tie. His hair was jelled up into swirls and spikes and he appeared to be wearing lipstick. He did not look particularly feminine, based on his body type alone, but when he spoke it came out. He blended in well with the party guests.

"Welcome to the Marriot," the flashy man said, shaking hands with both of them. "I'm Evan Pell. I'm the manager here. I know I don't look it right now, but I promise, I can help you with anything you need. We spoke on the phone earlier, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Swartz responded, appearing far too amused with the man's getup. "Where do you get a purple suit, anyway?"

"I made it. I'm a tailor." Pell smiled. "I take custom orders, if you're interested."

"I'm more interested in what we spoke about on the phone," Swartz said. He glanced around them. "May we speak some place private?"

"Of course. Come back here to my office."

His office was remarkably different that Owen expected. It was not covered in party streamers and lava lamps, but instead seemed perfectly organized. It was a bland place, full of folders, filing cabinets, and training videos.

"I printed the records for Mr. Shepherd's stay with us," Pell said, pulling a brown folder from his desk. He handed it to Swartz. "He checked in on the 13th of August, 2016, and he was supposed to check out on the 17th by ten. He paid with a credit card. He put in no requests with room service and none of my staff noticed anything out of the ordinary with his behavior. They said he was friendly, tipped a lot, and talked about his family."

Swartz glanced at Owen, and Owen nodded. "Sounds like him."

"As I told you on the phone, he never checked out and he left all of his things in his room. When he exited the lobby that night I was down there, and I remember him. I remember reading about that… awful crash in the paper. He didn't seem… drunk or anything. I would have stopped him."

Swartz tucked the file under his arm, nodding. "I appreciate you looking into this. I'm investigating the possibility that Mr. Shepherd was attacked, possibly carjacked, after leaving your hotel. I would like to see those security tapes you talked about. Even if you think there was nothing off, he might have left us some clues that night."

Pell nodded graciously. "Yes, sir, of course. This is a very large hotel, so our security footage runs through one main room on the third floor. We delete the footage from most areas, but the lobby footage remains for about a year before it has to be overwritten. Usually it's the most important."

"Sounds good. Take us to it."

He found nothing strange in the videos, and nothing odd about the time that Derek left. He looked like he was going out to eat, walking with a bounce, smiling at the employees and at another guest he almost crashed into. He looked like himself, but watching the video was eerie. Potentially only minutes after he had left that lobby, he had been attacked, or killed, or driven off a cliff. That smile on his face would have faded fast. He would have never smiled again, perhaps never walked again, and his last moments were playing on a loop in front of Owen.

"Do you have any footage of the parking lot?" Swartz wondered.

"No, sir. It gets deleted with the rest."

"Why do you only keep the video from the lobby?"

"There was an incident a few years back… it's for insurance purposes. Other videos are kept for several months, but not _six_ months. I'm sorry."

Swartz was nodding to himself. He had watched the video with intense focus, and now he seemed to be lost in his head. "Burn copies of these. I'll take them with me when we leave. For now I want you to show me the things Mr. Shepherd left behind."

"We have those locked up. We called his wife to come claim them, but… she refused."

Pell took them to one of the guest rooms, dragging a suitcase out and flopping it on the bed. He unzipped it, shrugging. "We kept it in the safe in the next room over. We were going to get rid of it, but I guess I just never got around to it."

Owen started going through the suitcase, ignoring Swartz, who obviously wanted to do the same thing. He dropped the clothes on the bed, only pausing when he found a little slip of paper at the bottom. It was under folded clothes, probably never found by Derek. His wife had written it for him. Owen did not open it, not daring to tread on the last words she had written to the love of her life, but looking down at his name, written in cursive across the front, broke his heart. He stared at it, briefly experiencing that loss again, the shock of witnessing his death. But again he came back to the idea that it wasn't Derek they had mourned at the hospital. Derek could have died here. He could have survived here. This did not have to be the last thing Meredith wrote to him.

Even after they had decided that nothing of import remained at the hotel, Owen and Swartz lingered. Owen was exhausted, his mind bogged down with this quest, and Swartz started putting calls out to the local hospitals, inquiring about possible cases of a John Doe passing through six months ago. Every time he hung up, Owen lost a little hope.

Finally he got caught in a conversation.

"_Really_?" Swartz said, motioning Owen over. He had been at the window, watching people flood the parking lot, but he rushed over to the table to sit with the detective. "Uh, huh. I see. Okay. Where did you transfer him? Can I get that address? No, no, you've been very helpful."

Owen waited, breathless, until Swartz put the phone down. "What was that about?"

"Six months ago a middle-aged John Doe was brought into St. Catherine's Hospital – that's down the highway, about an hour south of here – with a penetrating head wound. He was non-communicative and entered a comatose state, at which point he was transferred to the coma ward at the nearby long-term treatment center – er, Pollack or something."

"South? That's in the opposite direction of Seattle."

"You didn't ask why she was so forthcoming with that information," Swartz said, writing rapidly on his little notepad. "There's an open police investigation into the circumstances of John Doe's injuries. I'm calling that station now to get the details. And we're heading to that ward."

Owen jumped up, following him as he rushed down the hallway. He was too pumped to take the elevator, so he went for the stairwell, taking them two at a time to the bottom. He jogged after Swartz, whose every step carried him twice the distance, and barely got his car door closed before Swartz was peeling back into the street. He also managed to get a call out.

"Yes, this is Detective Swartz with the Seattle Police Department, homicide. Badge number 11465. I need information on an active case. Transfer me to whoever you need to."

Owen listened, wishing he could hear more than half the conversation.

"You opened a case on a John Doe first treated at St. Catherine's Hospital six months ago. I need to know the details of that case. It may be pertinent to a missing persons' case I'm working."

Owen sat silently, watching the road flash by and listening to the detective. He heard only a buzz from the other line, and it killed him to sit there for over half an hour with no idea what that buzz could mean, but he got through it. When the phone call finally ended, he stared at Swartz.

"You could be right," Swartz said, dropping his phone in his cup holder. "Their John Doe was found on the side of the highway, begging passing motorists for help. When a good Samaritan finally stopped she called the police, because the guy had a pocket knife sticking out of his forehead. When the police showed up he was already unconscious. They said he was ragged and dirty, like he had been homeless before his discovery, and that he had no ID on him. His DNA wasn't in the system."

"You said I could be right," Owen pointed out.

"He might be your guy. He was found on August 20th. He would have been out there for five days. I think the carjacker dumped him in the woods, thinking he was dead, and that tough son of a bitch crawled up to the road."

"You said earlier he was comatose."

"Yeah. Detective working his case said he was only conscious for a little while at the hospital. He couldn't identify himself or give them anything useful."

"How long to the hospital?"

"I keep seeing signs for it. Shouldn't be too long now." Swartz glanced up at the sky, and then sighed. "Shit. Did you notice it's almost three in the morning?"

"I felt it."

"As much as I want you to find your friend and get him back to his people, I'm also hoping he's not here. If we find him, it's gonna be a long night. Even longer."

Owen rested his arm on the window. "Not longer than those five days he spent in the woods."

It was not a crowded hospital. Despite being only an hour from the massive seventies party they had been forced to witness, this town was quiet. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. It was still raining, pouring from blackened clouds that obscured the stars, but even the rain was quieter here. It seemed appropriate, since Owen was starting to feel the darker thoughts that he had been avoiding this whole night. He thought of finding Derek in a vegetative state. He thought of finding him mangled, just like the body at the body of the cliff. He thought of finding him paralyzed, unable to move for the rest of his life. He thought of finding a hollowed out shell where a brilliant surgeon had once been. He thought of all the things worse than death, worse than dying in that crash, worse than simply being gone.

He stayed behind Swartz as the nurse led them down the hallway. It was a specialized unit, unique to the area. It was one of the places they had wanted to send Cristina when she entered a state of reactive psychosis years ago. He had refused, knowing that she would come back from it. He looked into rooms as they passed, watching breathing machines surge up and down, observing the drips of nutrients that were hooked into the patients' stomachs.

They were being led by the charge nurse, who seemed competent. She stopped outside of the last room on the right, pulling a file from the door. It had one piece of paper in it, with a list of requirements for entering the room.

"He is very reactive to movement," she explained. "He has been… relatively lucid for about a month, but he's only just started talking again. He's easily confused, particularly when you mention the date or where we are. I would avoid bringing those up. He's had several seizures, only one very severe, since his arrival here. He's on a tranquilizer because of an incident a few days ago where he attacked one of his nurses. If he is the man you're looking for, I would suggest you avoid questioning him. He shuts down whenever someone asks about his injuries."

Swartz was nodding, his eyes on the list. "What is that for?"

"Something for the nurses, so they can avoid triggering him. You can speak to our psychiatrist if you want. He got a little bit out of the patient, but it was hard won."

"Can we see him now?" Swartz asked.

"Of course. Just remember to be patient. He went through a trauma. His mind is in a very bad place right now." She knocked quietly on the door, and then opened it a little for them.

Owen stepped in first. He found a small room with a privacy curtain halfway around a bed. He moved along it until he could see around it, and what he saw stunned him. It was not what he had expected when he had set out that morning. It was the opposite of everything he had imagined, everything his mind had thrown at him.

And it was going to be a very long night.


	65. Newborn

**A/N: I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this story! I enlisted my boyfriend to create a picture of Cristina and Collin together, so I'll be posting a link to that when he finishes. So far it looks really adorable! I like to visualize characters, so this is the first real look you guys have at Collin. Anyway, I really appreciate all of the reviews – they make my night so much better! There are a few more twists and turns planned for the near future, so hold onto something!**

**Newborn.**

**February 22, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina could not sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, occasionally turning to gaze at the twins in little cradles by her side. She was tired, and her whole lower half was aching, but she kept her eyes open. She felt that everything on the highway was a dream. It was unreal. She could not comprehend that, only hours ago, she had been ridiculously pregnant, and now she had two tiny little babies depending on her. It was a hard transition, and she had gone through it all in minutes. She wouldn't have believed it if there were not two little incubators sitting alongside her bed, with two snoozing newborns curled up inside them. It was also easier to accept because the man who had been with her the whole time was slumped in a chair in the corner, taking his role as a midwife seriously. He had barely left her side since her admittance three hours ago.

Only a few of her friends knew that she was here. Arizona had come in to make sure that she wasn't dying, and then she had promptly ignored her in favor of the babies. She swooned over the twins, pretending to check their condition while she slobbered on them. Bailey had been the same way. It got serious when the two of them started trading babies and babbling like morons. Both of them asked about Owen, and both were eventually driven out by Alex, who served a duel role as a guard dog. Cristina was too tired to yell at them.

She had her phone in her lap, and she checked it every few minutes, flinching at the illuminated screen and wondering why she hadn't gotten a call yet. It was three in the morning, so late that she wondered if Owen had fled the country. How could he leave for so long without calling?

"Nothing?"

She glanced at Alex, who stirred a little at the screen light. He scratched his head, yawning, and stretched his arms out in front of him. She flipped her phone over, hiding the light. "No. His phone must have died. Or he took a bus to Mexico."

He was quiet for once, rolling his dark eyes toward the window. He crossed his arms tight and wiggled down a little in the chair, burrowing in for another attempt at a nap.

"You can go if you want," Cristina said. She motioned to the little boy snoozing in the other chair. He looked much more comfortable. Bailey had supplied him with a stuffed monkey and a new blanket – one that didn't smell like blood. He was perfectly content. "I have Collin to do my bidding. He's used to it."

Alex shrugged. "Got nowhere to be."

"You have a house. With a wife in it."

"I know." He stood up, grabbing his chair and carrying it to the other side of her bed, near the door. He sat by her head, kicking his shoes off and propping his feet up. He took a slow, deep breath, scratching his head like someone deep in thought. "I think I made a mistake… with Mer."

She took a breath, too, leveling out her feelings before she responded. When it had to do with her best friend, she took things more seriously. She was prone to be overly defensive. She had to remind herself of this situation, of how vulnerable he sounded whenever he spoke of her. She had to remind herself that she loved him, too.

Despite her preparation, she let her tongue slip.

"Please don't tell me you two slept together."

He snorted. "_No_." He scratched his ear, looking away. "When you told me to go find her, when you got here… she wasn't asleep. I just said that… I said some things to her that I shouldn't have."

She wished his tone revealed more. He was hard to crack. "Things like…?"

"I told her… how I felt."

"Oh, you idiot."

"It gets worse." He crossed his arms again, but this time he seemed to be doing it for security. He looked younger, especially with the moonlight coming in from the window. It had been a long day for both of them. "She… she basically said there was no way in hell she would… so I got kind of… mad. I yelled at her. We yelled at each other."

Cristina rubbed her face into her pillow, satisfying an itch without even moving her arm. It was a simple movement to keep her from saying the first thing that came to her mind, to keep her from yelling at him, too, if only to be in solidarity with Meredith.

She took a calming breath instead.

"I can't go home," Alex went on, briefly covering his face with his hands. He groaned. "I can't face Jo after what I said to… God, I'm such an idiot. What am I gonna do?"

"For one, go home to your _wife_ and tell her that you're an idiot and that you're sorry."

"But I-"

"And do your best to forget how you feel about Mer. It sucks, but she said she doesn't want you, so it's time to move on. I think we're close enough now that people see us as friends, and I can't have one of my friends moping around like a lovesick puppy."

"I can't just-"

"Oh, but you can. You'd be surprised what comes out of your mouth when you just open it. Like with Meredith. Do that, but with Jo. Tell her everything. Give her those sad eyes – yeah, those ones – when you do it. If she loves you she'll probably hit you, and then you guys can live happily ever after. Problem solved."

He stared at the floor. "Yeah, well, I'm crashing on your couch when she kicks me out."

"Fine. I just have to warn you, Collin wanders the house at night. If he kicks you in the nads while you're sleeping, you just have to live with it."

He smiled, finally breaking that sad look. "Glad to have you back, Yang."

"I was never gone."

"Oh, please. You turned into a pile of mush when Hunt was here. Now that he's gone you grew a pair again." He stood up, putting the chair back where it was. "You know, you could take your own advice. You're happy right now, and you're _you_, and Hunt isn't here. Why keep him around, if you're never happy when he's home?"

She was surprised by those words. She stuttered a little in her response. "It's not that simple."

"Never is." He leaned over, looking at the babies for a moment, and then he flicked a piece of her hair across her face. "Later. I'm going home."

"It's about time. Free loader."

When the room was silent, she finally closed her eyes. He was wrong about Owen. It radiated through her mind. He knew a lot more now than he did a few days ago, but he was still dead wrong about their relationship. She let it breeze over her, though, and thought instead of Meredith. Was she fuming in her own hospital room, or crying? If Alex made her cry, she would have to find something solid to hit him with. No matter how close they had become, leaving Meredith crying in a hospital room was not acceptable. She also had to wonder what had been said between them. She knew Alex could be cruel. He lashed out in the worst ways. But so did Meredith.

And she thought about Owen. Where had he gone? Who was he with? Why did she feel like there was a dark cloud looming over her head, just because he wasn't there? She looked at her twins, barely able to make out their faces in the moonlight, and hoped he would return soon to meet them. He would be so happy. He would love them so much.

She was sitting for an hour in the dark before the door cracked open. It was Callie. She peeked in at first, smiling, and then it turned into a full grin when she saw Cristina. She went to the babies first, leaning over their incubators and giving a few quiet squeals.

"Hey," she whispered, glancing up at Cristina. She had kind eyes, as always. "I heard what happened. Arizona said you were fine but I wanted to come by."

"If you're thinking about running off with one, I already put low jack in them."

Callie laughed. "I'm not _that_ desperate. Arizona did talk about adopting a sibling for Sophia though. Maybe one day." She checked around her, and then moved the chair to where Alex had been sitting, leaning in importantly. "I also wanted to see if you had heard from Owen."

Cristina blinked. "No. Have you?"

"Last time I saw him was at the police station."

"_Police station_? Why was he at a police station? Did he get arrested?"

Callie bit her lip. "Oh. _Crap_. He didn't tell you."

"Didn't tell me what?" Cristina tried to sit up, but she was too weak. She slumped back down, putting as much threat into her words as she could. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing… _happened_. Owen found something… in a file… and we took it to the police."

"Your vagueness is annoying. Just tell me where my husband is!"

"He stayed with the detective, er, Swartz."

"_Why_ were you there?"

"I think Owen should tell you that."

"Callie, I swear, I will grab these babies by the ankles and use them as nunchucks."

"Okay, violent. I get it. Long day." Callie slid back a little. "Owen was looking into… Derek's death. He found a weird fracture on the back of his skull, and I looked at it for him. It was a couple of days old, like someone had attacked Derek before his accident."

Cristina stared at her. She could barely come up with a response for that. It truly blew her mind. "What…? Why would he…? I can't even…"

"Owen is really determined about this. He wanted justice."

"Derek was in a _car accident_," Cristina stated.

"Owen thinks it might have been more than that."

"_Owen_ is going to get his ass kicked the next time I see him. Where is he?"

"I called the police station earlier, just to see if he was still there. He never texted me any updates. They said he took off with the detective."

"Where are they?"

"That's why I was asking you. I thought he might have called."

"I just gave birth. I have two babies here who have yet to see their father. If he had called, he would be here. He doesn't even know about this. He has no idea."

Callie considered her for a moment, and then she stood up. "I'll call the station back, try to get a cell number for the detective he's with. If I can get through I'll tell him to get his ass back here. You just… you know… rest your vagina."

"Can you do something else, before you leave?"

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

"Can you tell Meredith? Alex was supposed to but… can you tell her what happened? Can you tell her where I am?"

"Okay." She looked back, frowning at the toddler sleeping in the chair. "I can take Collin home with me, if you want. Just for the night."

"No, he'll freak out. He's better off over there. Trust me."

Callie headed for the door, pausing. "Should I mention the whole… you know… murder thing to Meredith?"

"No! Don't you dare."

"He could be on to something."

"We don't know that yet. Just… just don't say anything. Just tell her where I am, please."

Her friend left, and the room quieted again. Cristina shifted, groaning, to look at the twins sleeping alongside her. Every second she spent with them, they became more beautiful in her eyes. Their sounds, their movements, became familiar. She loved the black hair dusting the boy's head, and the pale blonde on the girl's. She loved the way their hands folded up, like they were already prepared to punch other interns out of the way for a chance at performing surgery. She was so proud already, just imagining what they would do one day.

Watching them helped her forget what Callie had said about Derek, about Owen. She had no desire to open up another chapter of drama. She had loved Derek just like everybody else, but she knew his death was not that complicated. Owen was just grasping. He just needed something to hold onto. He needed something to chase.

He would be fine when he got home and saw his children. He would forget about those crazy ideas, and realize that he didn't need anything beyond this, beyond their family.

She forced herself to sit up, cringing, and took the boy delicately from his cradle. He was the first she had held, and he seemed smaller than his sister, but he still had the perfect face. She had already discussed names with Owen – the two of them already had their identities, only she was just getting around to recalling them after the insanity of their arrival.

"Hi," she whispered, kissing his forehead. His skin was impossibly soft. "Noah Hunt." It was strange to hear that name again, so long after her father had died. She had listened to her mother say it almost every day. It was his 'English name,' she would say. It helped him fit in with the working world. It helped him assimilate. He had picked it himself, and he was so proud of it. And now her son would have it.

When she placed him back down, he was still asleep, but his sister was starting to shift around. Cristina plucked her from her little bed and cradled her, sitting back against the covers. For her, they had chosen Evelyn, after Owen's mother. She already seemed to have the same fire.

Her eyes opened briefly, a dark ocean blue, and she threw her tiny fists around.

"Shh. You can fight later. You get to sleep right now. Trust me, sleep is your friend."

Cristina yawned, letting the warm baby resting on her chest as she slid further into the covers. She could finally shut her eyes, if only for the tiny heart beating against her skin. She kept her hand on the baby's back, always aware of her life, counting every breath. She slept, and she dreamt, but she never really left that room. She never really left her kids alone.


	66. Sister

**Sister.**

**February 23, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina stared down at the baby, tracking the tiny changes in her face, wondering what she could be thinking about so early in her life. She seemed deep in thought, considering the universe and her place in it, contemplating how she would beat other interns for her future surgeries, plotting world domination and the dress she would wear to her senior prom. It was all there. Cristina toyed with the idea as they watched each other. Did she know that she was looking at her mother? Did she know that Cristina was worried? Did she sense the tension in her arms, the quickness of her heart? It seemed that way. Evelyn looked at her with a disarming intensity, just like her father, with the same dark blue eyes like the rippling surface of the ocean. She had to know, because when the fear for Owen crept up in Cristina, the baby smiled, or yawned, or shifted around and drew the attention back to herself. And when she did, when Cristina looked at her, and moved with her, and smiled with her, the fear was gone. She only had room for warmth.

Her other kids were sleeping, their quiet breaths synching up in the shadowy room. Cristina had turned one of the lamps on, giving them a dim light to work with, but Collin and Noah were out of it. Collin had turned over at some point, and now he lay on his belly in the chair, his legs poking out under the armrest. His head was very close to dangling off the other side. Noah had managed to wiggle in a small circle, now perpendicular to how he had been lying before. His little foot was poking out of the blankets and he slept with a serious expression, like his sister.

It had only been about twenty minutes since Callie had left. Cristina had slept briefly with Evelyn, but when the baby started moving, she woke up. She felt like she hadn't rested at all. She sat the head of her bed up and held her daughter in her arms, waiting for the door to open again. Once Meredith heard about this, she would find a way here, hell or high water. She would crawl if she had to. Cristina only had to wait, and hope nobody decided to start sobbing.

When the door finally opened she could not help her smile, but what she saw took it off of her face. Callie was pushing Meredith in a wheelchair, and Meredith looked like she had been crying. Her cheeks were puffy, and her smile was weak.

"Hey," Cristina said, pulling her covers back and shifting sideways on the bed. She stood up, setting Evelyn down where she had been, and though her body ached she wrapped her arms around her friend. "Hey, just tell me who I need to kill. Just give me a name and it's done."

Meredith drew in a gasp, her lip trembling against Cristina's shoulder. She shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. We're happy right now. I want to see the baby versions of you."

Cristina pulled away, examining her friends face. She looked devastated, but Cristina could not fathom what had upset her so much. She refused to believe that Alex could have said something that awful, and Callie didn't look guilty, so she didn't know about Owen's little investigation into the car accident. She was painfully curious, but her curiosity could not stand up to her desire to see her friend happy. She knew what that entailed.

She gathered up Evelyn once more, turning to present her to Meredith. She set the baby gently in her friend's arms, watching, smiling as the sadness in Meredith shifted to wonder. She smiled in a way that only Meredith could, and kissed the baby's forehead.

"Look at you," she said, her voice falling several volume levels. "You look just like your daddy, but I see a little trouble in you. You are gonna break some hearts one day."

Cristina sat on the bed, nodding when Callie indicated that she wanted to pick up Noah. She watched them both fawn over her twins, letting the light flood back into her. Being alone with them had done a lot to grow her uncertainty about Owen, but being here, with the rest of her extended family, snatched it away. Evelyn also brought life back into Meredith, and she earned her name. She had the same sweet presence as he grandmother.

"Baby therapy," Meredith said after a few moments. "Guaranteed to fix all your problems. Just get a little snuggling in, take a whiff of that new baby smell, and _bam_."

Callie set her own therapy object back in his incubator, sighing. "I think my session is over. Do you guys want anything before I go? Hot towel? Little soap on your pillow? I could boil some peanuts if you really want. I mean, I'm here to serve."

"Thank you," Meredith said, looking up at her, eyes shining. "For everything."

"Yeah, yeah," Callie responded, patting her on the head. "Oh, Sophia keeps asking when Zola is coming to stay with us again. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Ms. Peters is taking her to kindergarten tomorrow, so just pick her up. She'll be thrilled. If you want Bailey, you'll have to fight… you know… big Bailey… for him. She won't say it to your face, but I think she's in love with him. And Tuck adores him."

"Well he's adorable, but I don't think I'll win that battle. Besides, he has a crush on Sophia, so I'm cool with keeping them separated. She might get violent. She does that."

Cristina reached over to swipe a gob of drool from Evelyn's lip. "You guys have some messed up kids. I mean, talk about drama. I bet Sophia will break his heart one day, and then, you know, they'll end up on Jerry Springer. Somehow a goat will be involved."

"I'm gonna go, before this gets weirder," Callie said. She headed for the door, pointing to Collin. "You sure you don't want me to take him?"

"Oh, no, he'll have a meltdown."

"Even with all the pretty girls around?"

Meredith tilted her head at the little boy in the chair. "I slept like that once when I was an intern. Used two chairs though. Good for him."

"Where's Sophia, anyway?" Cristina wondered. "Weren't you watching her?"

"Sleeping in my car, in the parking lot." Callie had her hand on the doorknob. "Kid sleeps like a log. I got Danny to sit with her."

"Intern Danny?" Meredith asked.

"Yeah. She's terrified of me. I figured I should put it to good use."

"Enslaved babysitter… I like it," Cristina said.

Callie smiled at both of them, and then craned on her tiptoes to look at Noah again. "I will see you two tomorrow night. Wait, are you taking the babies home? I'll come to your house. Text me your address. You moved, didn't you? I swear I heard that you moved."

"It's the same way with Ellis and Lexie," Meredith said, laughing. "She's like a leech for the affection of small children."

"Oh, but they smell so good," Callie said as she slid out the door. She shut it gently behind her, and she whispered through it, making the women inside laugh. "So good."

When she was gone, Meredith handed the baby back and stood tenderly from her wheelchair. She came over to the bed, flicking her wrist at Cristina. "Scoot over." While Cristina scooted toward the incubators, a baby in her arms, Meredith climbed under the covers. Even though the bed was barely big enough for the two of them, it was an immediate comfort to have here there. She felt like it had been a long, long time since their last sleepover heart-to-heart.

Meredith sighed, her eyes on the baby. "Your bed is softer than mine. That's messed up. I mean, you gave birth, sure, but my babies tried to pull my insides out."

"We should file a lawsuit."

"Or, you know, steal some pillows from pediatrics. Did you know they have like fifty million pillows down there?"

"Since when do you haunt the halls of peds?"

"Alex took me-" She cut herself off sharply, her jaw stiffening. "The point is, we could make a pillow fort. I mean, you need hip support. We need… support. Or more morphine."

"Speaking of support, where are your minions? Did you really let big Bailey keep little Bailey?"

"She volunteered. It was weird. He loves her though. He called before bedtime to tell me how much fun he was having with Tucker. Zola is at a sleepover with one of her friends from school. And apparently tomorrow she'll be with Sophia."

"What about the teeny ones?"

"Nursery. I needed some time… to myself."

Cristina glanced at the twins, wondering if she could stand to have them in a different room. She had only known them for a few hours but she would not feel right if they were absent.

Meredith was looking at them, too. "So you're naming them both after me, right? One can be Meredith, and the other one can be Marty, or Manson, or something with an M."

"Owen and I already picked the names. Noah and Evelyn."

Meredith smiled. "Perfect. Perfect little names, and perfect little babies. But I bet you a dollar Evelyn's hair turns red. No, a hundred dollars. A thousand."

"Her hair is _blonde_," Cristina objected.

"But your husband is red-headed. Where would she get blonde from, huh? From you?"

"Make a wish on the first blonde Korean you see."

"Well she'll be a red-head. Trust me."

Cristina was quiet, trying to imagine a kid about Collin's age with long red hair, being led around the yard by her big brother. She imagined a smaller brother pursuing them, probably covered in mud just like Collin, and she imagined their father watching over them. If he ever came back.

"So where is… Owen, anyway? Callie mentioned he was… absent."

_Funny story, really. Owen is out investigating the car accident that killed your husband. You know, the man you loved more than life itself? Father of your children? Owen thinks he was murdered, horribly, and now he's on a mission to prove it._

"Owen hasn't… called. I don't know where he is."

"Are we getting violent when he gets back? You know I have your back."

"I'll just throw a bedpan at his head."

"I'll bring you mine. Throw two." Meredith turned, looping her arms around one of Cristina's and sighing. Her expression became somber. "So… I had a fight with Alex."

Cristina did everything she could to keep her face neutral, even though she was very curious about the fight they had had. Alex had told her he said something horrible. She hoped it wasn't the reason her friend was crying earlier. "What happened?"

"You were right, you know. Alex said he was in love with me." She groaned. "I told him there was no way... He said I deserved… he said I deserved what I got, because I was cold. He was talking about Derek. What kind of monster…?" She broke off, pulling in a sharp breath. It had tears in it. She snuggled closer to Cristina. "And now I can't stop thinking about him. _Derek_."

Cristina placed her hand on Meredith's head, immediately overwhelmed with sympathy. She could not stand the sound of Meredith crying, because Meredith was strong, and when she cried it meant her strength was breaking down. She hated to see strong people fall apart. Meredith began to cry, slowly, quietly, and Cristina had to shift around to run a hand up and down her friend's shoulder.

"I can't believe my babies will never meet their father," Meredith whispered brokenly, between sobs. She squeezed Cristina's arm, pressing her face into her skin. "Bailey will never play catch with him. He won't get to see Zola graduate kindergarten."

"I know," Cristina responded. "I know, I know. But I'll be there. I'll be there."

Meredith whimpered, tilting her head up for a split second to look at Cristina. There was a hint of a smile there, before it fell back into sadness, and she buried her face again. She spoke in a whisper again, her voice choked up. "I don't know what I would do if you weren't here."

"You never have to find out," Cristina said. "I mean, Collin is in love with Zola, so one day that'll be a thing. Unless I decide to disown him for wearing skinny jeans or something."

"God, if our kids got married, can you imagine what kind of crap they would go through? Talk about bad genes."

Cristina nodded. "They'll probably get nuked or something. One of them will contract leprosy. They'll get fingered in the murder of the future pope. A falling ice-cream truck will paralyze their closest friends and then they'll succumb to some new strain of flesh-eating syphilis."

Meredith laughed. It was a welcome sound. "Flesh-eating syphilis?"

"Super syphilis. Contracted from the bite of a rare tree frog from a local science exhibit."

"So like that spider who bit Peter Parker?"

"Right. But with super syphilis instead of, you know, spider powers."

Meredith let her head lay back. She still had tears on her face, but the worst of her grief seemed to have passed. "You know, I could never have this conversation with anyone else. This stupid conversation that somehow made me feel better. What were we even talking about?"

"I think it had something to do with ice-cream. We should get a gallon of ice-cream."

"We definitely should."

"So it's finally time to blow this joint?"

Meredith twisted her lips. "We could call Callie and make her come back."

"No, I can just text-" She stopped before she could say the name of the man who had provoked the crying. She would not be communicating with him, or talking about him. She realized suddenly that she had no one else – they had no one else, really, to call at this early hour. It was five in the morning, and the two of them were on their own.

Meredith tried to reach for her wheelchair, where her phone was waiting, but Cristina grabbed hers from the side table first. She unlocked it, glancing at the new messages on the screen. She had put in on silent to keep the babies asleep.

She stopped on her recent calls, where she found an unfamiliar number. It had called her over twenty times, almost every five minutes for the last hour. She knew who it had to be.

She called it back, ignoring Meredith, who looked perplexed.

"Cristina?"

Her heart jumped. It was him. He sounded fine, although his voice was husky. He sounded anxious, and she could imagine his expression from only the sound of her name on his tongue. She had worried so much for him that hearing him now, even after vowing to smack him when he was back in range, made her want to pull him close. She didn't even know where he was, or what he had been doing for the last day, but she wanted him there with her.

"Owen. Where are you? Where have you been?"

He sighed, relieved. "I'm so sorry. My phone died and I was just so focused on this… I should have called. I'm fine. I'm up in the mountains, near Plymouth, at the hospital."

"Plymouth?" She knew Derek had been there for a conference before his death. It was only four hours away. She was grateful he wasn't in Mexico, or on a boat headed to Europe, but the distance still bothered her. "You need to come back."

"I can't just yet. I have to tell you something, and you have to listen for a moment. Please, just listen."

"Owen, I don't-"

He started talking, and every word he said hit her hard, like the breath was being stolen from her chest, like the sky was pouring down on them. Meredith could hear it, too, and the light left her eyes with every single syllable.

It seemed that darkness descended, and this time it would not be lifted.


	67. Rebirth

**Rebirth.**

**February 23, 2017.**

**Plymouth, Washington.**

Owen folded his hands into his hair, leaning back into the plush bench. It was cold in the waiting room, in part because the air had been running nonstop since he had come in, but mostly because his insides were chilled. He was chilled to the bone. He had only spent ten minutes here, fifteen at the most, and he had managed to come to terms with what had happened. He had formulated his own explanation to this insane discovery. He had figured out what must have happened, validated his suspicions, and gone even further, to see his most outrageous hope become reality.

It still struck him when he said it to himself, when he dared to think of it, when he pictured the implications of it. He still smiled when he realized, again, how lucky he was, how lucky they all were. It still made him laugh, a little hysterical, when he thought of the odds.

Derek Shepherd was alive.

He had been sitting up in his hospital bed, alert to the sound of visitors. He had seemed fuzzy at first when he looked at Owen, uncertain of him, and then the life had flown back into his eyes. It was like watching a revelation. He was so flooded, he started sobbing, and then he started shouting at them. He lost control of himself and, for a brief time, lost consciousness. On any other day Owen would have been worrying, stalking the doctors, monitoring his condition, but today he was just so grateful that he was _alive_ that he neglected everything else. He put the reaction off as a fluke. Derek had been through a trauma, one that had stolen six months from him. He was bound to be shocked. He had earned it. He had earned the right to scream.

Swartz had been on the phone since they verified the identity of the former coma patient. He was ordering the medivac of Derek from this unit to Grey-Sloan. He was also confirming the order for the autopsy of whoever had been in the truck, to notify the family. He even spent a few minutes laughing with his boss about the incredible odds they had stomped all over.

"Is he back from that test yet?" Swartz wondered, coming over after he hung up with the station. He plopped down beside Owen, throwing his arm over the back of the chair. He was still smiling and shaking his head with disbelief.

Owen shrugged. "I got kicked out, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. You dragged me down with you. Which is why we're both out here looking like jackasses while an assault victim – my victim – gets his head scanned."

Owen had his phone in his lap, and though it was dead, he habitually tried to turn the screen on to check for messages. "I just wanted to help," he said under his breath. When his friend had started seizing, Owen had tried to get involved with his care, but the facility's doctors were not amused. "I have plenty of experience with PTSD. Derek is fine."

"Is that what that was?" Swartz asked.

Owen shoved his phone in his pocket, staring at the double doors separating them from the patient rooms. "Did you see that fear in his eyes? He was remembering what happened to him. He started seizing because his body was reacting to a trauma that wasn't happening. It's a physiological problem – a slew of chemical signals crashing into each other."

"So you think he's still… himself?"

"I saw that. He said my name." Owen had gaped openly when Derek had whispered his name. It was astonishing, to see him come so quickly from that groggy state he had been in when they entered the room. "Seeing me jogged his memory. It also brought back the bad stuff."

"Well, I'm having him sent to your hospital. He's still a victim of a crime, but I'll be altering his case to reflect his status. If that man found in his car wasn't his attacker, I'll find out who did it."

"I hope it was," Owen responded. When he got a strange look, he held up his hand. "Not because he's dead. I mean, I wouldn't wish that… Because it would be simpler. It would be easier for Meredith, for everyone, if this was over when Derek came home. I'm not sure how they would handle it – how Derek would handle it – if he knew that the guy who did this was still out there."

"I can understand that."

For a few moments they sat in silence. Owen tried to imagine how Meredith would react to this news, if she would be grateful for his intrusions. He wondered if Cristina would forgive him for disappearing. She would. She had to. She would understand that this was important.

"Can I borrow your cellphone?" Owen asked, holding his up for the detective. "I ran out of battery. I just want to call my wife… tell her where I am."

Swartz handed over his phone, smirking. "How deep of a hole have you dug?"

"I'm nearing the Earth's core. I thought I would try to climb out a little before I get back home. I think this will help me with that."

"You know his wife, right? I'm sure she would take the news better from you."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to make _that_ call yet." He started dialing, speaking while the phone rang. "Actually, I think I know who should tell her. Her best friend."

He waited, breathless, until she picked up.

"Cristina?" he asked.

Her voice was rushed, but incredible to hear. He had not imagined that he could miss something so much, after only a day away, but when she spoke the fire ignited in him again. "Owen? Where are you? Where have you been?"

He hated how worried she sounded. He should have called earlier. He felt guilty for making her wait. Where had his mind been, that he couldn't make a simple phone call? His obsession with finding the truth had made it impossible to reach out to her. He couldn't talk to her, couldn't think of her, until it was done. And it was done now.

"I'm so sorry," he said, sighing. "My phone died and I was just so focused on this… I should have called. I'm fine. I'm up in the mountains, near Plymouth, at the hospital."

"Plymouth?" she asked, her voice going up an octave. "You need to come back."

He wanted to more than anything. He would have run back, if he could have forced himself off of that bench. He would only go when the transport got there, when he knew Derek was safely on his way, via helicopter, to the hospital.

"I can't just yet. I have to tell you something, and you have to listen for a moment. Please, just listen."

"Owen, I don't-"

"Cristina, Derek is alive. He's alive. He's in a hospital up here, a coma unit, and he's been here for the last six months. He was found in the woods, several days after the crash. He's been conscious for a week or two now, but he couldn't give them his name. He recognized me, though. He said my name. He's alive, and he knows who he is."

He thought the silence would never end. He heard her draw in a sharp gasp, heard someone else say something in the background, and then the phone shifted around.

It was Meredith this time.

"I want you to say that again, clearly, and don't you dare lie to me. I am not playing around with you, Owen Hunt. Tell me what you said."

He steadied himself. "Derek is alive. He'll be on his way there soon."

He heard her whimper, and then he heard crying. The phone moved hands again. Cristina spoke to him, perhaps with her friend crying on her shoulder. "I can't believe… He's on the way here? How soon? Where is he now?"

"We're waiting on a medivac. It shouldn't take more than an hour in the air."

She laughed. "That's where you've been?"

"Yeah. That's where I've been."

"Owen… I can't even explain…" Her voice dropped, and he heard a distinct vein of warmth in her. It was a special tone, one she only used with him. "Just come home, okay? Just start driving, and get here as soon as you can. I just need to see you."

He nodded, shaking off the film of tears developing in his eyes. He could not express how badly he needed to see her, too. He could not put it into words.

"I will," he promised.

She was quiet for another moment, and then she whispered. "I love you."

"I'll be home in four hours – three hours. And I'll say it back to you, to your face. Okay?"

"Okay." There was a smile in her response.

Owen hung up, staring at the phone for a few precious seconds. It had been a relatively short conversation, short compared to the long day he had had, and yet it was so vast, so important. Meredith knew that her husband was alive. He was going to head home soon. He was going to see his kids. He was going to watch them grow up.

Swartz took his phone back, smiling. "Best call we get to make."

Owen wiped his eyes, standing up. He cleared his throat. "When will the medivac be here?"

"Should be any minute now. Should we go get our guy?"

"Yeah. It's time to send him home. He'll get there before we do."

Owen and Swartz walked together back to the room, where they were just wheeling Derek in. He was awake and alert, looking around, his jaw locked. He looked up when the men entered, frowning at first, eyebrows pulled down, and then he locked eyes with Owen.

"Hunt," he said. "Please just… explain this to me."

Owen went to his bedside, looking over him again, like he had the first time he had seen him that night. He seemed perfectly healthy aside from the cast on his left arm and the scar on his forehead. It was remarkable. It was almost unbelievable.

"You were attacked," Owen said, forcing his voice to be as soft as possible. He wanted to rush, wanted to get home to Cristina as soon as he could, but this was a delicate issue. Derek had a delicate mind right now. "You got hurt, and you ended up in the hospital. Nobody knew who you were, and you slipped into a coma, so they put you here."

"Where am I?" Derek asked.

"Plymouth."

"Where is… where's Meredith? Is she okay?"

"Meredith is fine." Owen could see him starting to panic. He pulled up a chair and took his hand, holding on when Derek tried to pull away. "Hey, look at me. Meredith is fine. She was at home when you were attacked. Do you remember what happened? You were at that conference in the mountains."

Derek frowned. "The conference…?"

"Yeah. Listen. You got hurt, but you're okay now. You woke up."

Derek seemed to realize something. He tilted his head, his eyes widening a pinch. "Hunt… how long was I out? Where's my wife?"

"Meredith is in Seattle. We're gonna get you on a helicopter and send you to Grey-Sloan. Calm down." He released Derek's hand, placing his palm on his shoulder instead. He seemed to want to leap out of bed. "Just take it easy. You know better than anyone that you need to relax."

"How can I relax?" Derek demanded. "How long was I out? Tell me!"

Owen wished he had not asked that question. He answered sincerely, wishing he did not see the despair come into his friend's eyes. "Six months." Derek's eyes shimmered, his thoughts racing. Owen patted his shoulder. "But listen. Listen to me. Everything is fine. Everybody is fine. We are gonna get you home to Meredith. She's waiting for you."

His eyes darted back and forth. "Six months… I can't believe… I don't feel like…"

"I know it's hard to understand, but-"

"How can you know that?" Derek snapped. He started shifting around, trying to get his legs out of bed. Owen pressed his shoulder down harder and Derek slapped his hand away. "Get off me."

Owen released him, sliding back in his chair. "Easy," he pleaded.

Derek got his feet on the floor and jerked forward. Owen jumped up, grabbing him before he could collapse. He had no strength. His legs locked and then buckled under his weight. He gasped, but Owen kept him up, easing him back into his bed.

"I can't… my legs…" Derek said, staring, wide-eyed, at Owen.

"It's temporary," Owen said. "You just need physical therapy."

Derek sat up again, out of breath, and pressed both hands into his legs, as if testing that he could still feel it. He was shaking. Owen wished he could do more for him.

"I think we should get you home now," Owen said. "Are you ready?"

Derek shuddered, and then nodded. "Yes. Please."

It went relatively smooth from there. Owen helped him get loaded into the helicopter, which was forced to land in the parking lot of this small facility, and watched them fly off with him. He stood there for just a moment before following Swartz to his car and loading up.

Swartz cranked it up, turned the heat on, and looked at Owen. He looked tired, but lively at that discovery. "How about I turn the sirens on, get there a little faster?"

Owen yawned, smiling at his new friend. "I'll owe you one."


	68. Redux

**Redux.**

**February 23, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"Should I be waiting outside? I think I should be waiting outside. Push me outside."

Cristina put her hands on her friend's shoulders. "It's freezing outside, so no. Plus the wind from the helicopter would probably knock us off the platform. Have you seen yourself trying to stand up? I may be better at it, but I swear I would roll away like a tumbleweed."

"But why are we just sitting here?"

"Because we have nowhere else to be," Cristina supplied. "And this is where they're going to bring him. Right here. He is going to land on the helicopter pad, and then they are going to wheel him into this room and you can slobber all over him."

Meredith had lost a lot of her grief over the last hour. She had begun in disbelief, her eyes dripping tears, her voice a pitiful whimper. She had needed reassurance, and to be hugged, and told that everything was going to be okay. But she was fierce now. She sounded strong again. She had left her pity party and moved on to the positive side, even though she occasionally questioned the validity of the situation. It was about that time again.

"I'm not saying Owen is crazy… but are you sure he's not crazy? He could have totally lost it up there. He could have spun out, and he just thinks that Derek is alive because it fits his crazy theory."

"For the fourth time," Cristina responded, patting Meredith on the head, "Owen is not crazy. If he says that Derek is alive, and that he's on the way here, then it must be true. He should be here any minute. Would you just keep your panties on?"

Meredith sighed, sinking down in her chair. "Longest hour of my life."

Both women perked up at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Callie came into the room, panting, wide-eyed, and smiling. She was looking right at Meredith. "He just got here. I saw him. He's on the way down here right now, in the elevator."

"You ran all the way down the stairs, didn't you?" Cristina asked. "Bravo."

"I may have… overcommitted," Callie said. She leaned over her knees, gasping. "I just wanted you to know. I couldn't believe my eyes."

"How did he look?" Meredith demanded. She tried to get up again, but Cristina put a hand on her shoulder to hold her down. "Callie, did he look like himself? Was he awake?"

"He was himself, yeah," Callie said, panting. "He asked where you were."

Meredith looked up at Cristina, her eyes watering. She pressed her fist to her mouth, shaking her head. "How is this happening? How can this…?"

Cristina leaned down, cringing at a pain in her stomach, and wrapped her arms around Meredith. She swayed a little, comforting her like she would a crying baby. "It just is. Hey, don't let him see you cry. You're gonna make me cry. You know I hate that. Stop it."

Meredith sniffled, wiping her face. "Sorry."

It was the sound of the gurney coming down the hall that made them all silent. Cristina turned Meredith toward the door. Callie stepped out of the way, her eyes shining.

Like a scene from a movie, the gurney turned into the room and everything that had happened over the last six months was erased. It just poured away, like water down a drain. Cristina remembered getting that call in Switzerland, boarding that plane with baby Collin. She remembered the funeral, holding Meredith while she cried. She remembered their talks about it, their contemplations of the future without him. She remembered the months that Meredith had struggled, the light that had come with the birth of her daughters. She remembered seeing that light crushed only a few hours ago, and now she could forget all of it. She could leave it all in the past.

It was really him. He was awake, looking around, and the moment he entered the room and the gurney stopped, he sat up. He stared at them, his eyes settling on his wife, and his lip trembled. She struggled to stand. Cristina put her arms around Meredith and helped her to the gurney, stepping back when they got their arms around each other. It was like putting two magnets together.

"I am… so sorry," Derek whispered, his voice crackling around his words.

Meredith whimpered, and then gasped out a laugh. "Never say that," she said, pulling away. She held his face in her hands, staring at him, running her fingers down his cheeks. She had an incredible love in her eyes, one for the ages, as she leaned in to kiss his forehead. "I love you so much. I thought I'd lost you… I thought you were…"

He sniffled, shutting his eyes. "I wish I could…"

She shook her head, smiling a smile that had been absent for six months, and kissed his forehead again. She took a teary breath. "No wishing. Everything I wanted has already happened. I have you. Nothing else matters." She pressed her forehead to his, still staring at him, still gazing at him with the power of every moment they had ever spent together. "Nothing else matters."

"Hey," Cristina said, coming along the side of the gurney. She addressed Derek, though it was like talking to a ghost. "Let them put you in bed."

He nodded, smiling at her, and held out his arm. "Come here."

She groaned, but hugged him anyway, glad for the warmth of the two of them.

Derek was red-eyed, and he looked exhausted, and he was skinnier and scruffier than usual, but he still had glitter in his eyes as he spoke. "What? You didn't miss me?"

"No, I married Mer while you were gone. We have a love child."

He twisted his lips, and then something seemed to occur to him. He looked down at her stomach – her rapidly flattening stomach – and frowned. "What about…? Did they make it?"

Meredith stroked his face. "Yeah. They're in the nursery. I'll get them brought here."

"H-H-How long? How old are they?"

"Seven days old," Meredith responded. "You barely missed anything."

He leaned in to kiss her, and then a weird look came onto his face. "That's funny. On the way over here they told me I came to about a week ago."

"You knew," she said. "You knew they needed you. So you came back to me."

"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for Owen," Derek responded, glancing at Cristina, his smile becoming more serious. "I didn't… I was too surprised to really… thank him when you see him, for me. He's the reason I'm here. He gave me this."

Cristina nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "I will."

"Where is he, anyway?" Derek wondered.

"Driving back. He should be back later."

Derek looked at her stomach, too, and seemed uncertain. "What about…?"

"Came out alien. Had to put them down."

Meredith laughed. "She had them last night. On the highway. During a storm."

"Sounds appropriate," Derek said.

"Oh, you haven't heard my story yet," Meredith chimed, detaching from him and staggering back into her wheelchair. "I didn't get this thing for the shiny wheels."

Cristina could sense an intense conversation coming on, even as the paramedics took Derek to the bed and got him situated. Soon they would be talking about her dramatic labor, the injury their daughter had suffered, and what had happened with the other kids while he was away. Soon Ellis and Lexie would be brought to them, and Derek would cradle them, and snuggle them, and for a while life would be perfect for them. Meredith would finally be happy again, and Derek would find his place in the future he had been shaken into.

She slipped out to give them privacy, dragging Callie with her. In the hallway, she quickly put a lid on her emotions, drying the tears in her eyes.

"I should go," Callie whimpered, wiping tears away on her nice polyester sweater. "I put my kid in the car again." In this emotional state, everything she said sounded like she was confessing to murder. "I have to get her before she wakes up!"

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Easy there."

"It was just so beautiful!" Callie exclaimed. "I mean, Derek said… and then Meredith said… and nothing else matters! God, it's like watching a caterpillar turn into a butterfly!"

Cristina failed to see the logic. "Would you grow up already? Go get your kid and go home."

"How are you not sobbing? I saw you crying in there! How can you just… get rid of it like that?"

Somehow she let that moment be one of brutal honesty. "Because I wish Owen was here. I wish he would get here. So I can't just… be super happy like you are. I'm still waiting for my stupid butterfly moment."

Callie frowned, trying to go for a hug. "Come here, cranky."

"Touch me, and I'll call security," Cristina threatened, dodging her.

"Should you even be out of bed? I really wouldn't try those mad ninja moves a few hours after giving birth. It really takes the balance out of you."

"Oh, come on, you had a C-section, and you were unconscious most of the time!"

"Are you saying your experience was worse than mine? Because I'm like hundred percent positive it wasn't."

Cristina slumped against the wall. She was starting to get the point about the balance. She also felt an uncomfortable pull in her hips, like they were going to split open and drop her insides on the floor. "We are not having a birthing contest. Could you get me a wheelchair?"

"Please wouldn't kill you."

"Come on, I'm dying here."

Callie retrieved a wheelchair from down the hall, rolling it up to Cristina. "Here, your majesty. Do you want me to roll you up to your room? Who's watching your kids, anyway?"

"I conned Jackson into doing it. He has too many morals to leave them alone. I just pretended I had to pee and never came back. I really am brilliant."

"Oh, I have to try that one." Callie started rolling her down the hall. She lowered her voice a little. "So when is Owen going to be here? I mean, I know Derek just got here, and that was by air, but isn't Owen driving back?"

"That's what he said. I guess it'll be another three hours."

"So around seven?"

"I don't even know what time it is."

Callie stopped at the elevators. "Me neither. I was just estimating. Is the sun up yet? Arizona is going to kill me. I know it's kind of a reversal of roles, but she's the really protective one. She freaks out about stuff like this."

"Stuff like leaving your daughter sleeping in a car in a hospital parking lot in the middle of the night, three times?"

"Technically it's morning now, so middle of the night two times." Callie shrugged. "And yeah. But that kid is tough. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if they called me and told me she was extorting other kids for their lunch money."

"Zola would help her."

"Damn straight." Callie pushed her into the elevator, twisting her around inside. She banged her into three of the four walls. "Sorry. Sorry. Should have backed you in."

When she finally made it back to her room, Jackson was sitting on the bed, looking miserable. Collin was sitting on his chair, glaring dangerously at the man. Her daughter was asleep, but Noah was moving around, throwing his arms up so she could see them inside the incubator.

"You do realize I'm not your babysitter?" Jackson wondered, hopping up when he saw her.

She shrugged, laughing. "Did the big bad toddler scare you?"

"He tried to bite me."

"Well, he doesn't like to be touched."

"He fell out of the chair! I was trying to comfort him!"

She snorted, wheeling herself further into the room. Collin noticed her and ran to her, demanding to be picked up. She hauled him into her arms and he snuggled up, still shooting unfriendly glances at Jackson. She thought it was hilarious.

"You're welcome," Jackson said, storming out of the room.

Cristina kissed the top of Collin's head. "What a drama queen."

Callie went over to the babies, looking down at them with the same loving expression she had earlier that night – or, the previous night, since it was morning now. "What a night," she said, leaning down to kiss each of them delicately on the forehead. "What a night for little babies."

Cristina climbed into bed, letting Collin snuggle in beside her. He was like a little heating pack. He wrapped his arms over her chest and rested his face on her breast, now staring at Callie. He liked her more than Jackson, but he seemed to be in an antisocial mood. He was starting to act more and more like Cristina in that respect, and she loved it.

"Do you want me to wait with you?" Callie wondered.

"Could you just…?" Cristina was uncertain. She wanted to ask her to stay, because her nerves were all over the place, and she wasn't sure how she would fair another three hours without her lover, but she also wanted to be alone. She wanted to melt into the covers for a while, to try and forget the long, slow night that had brought her here.

Callie smiled. "I'll see you later. Get some sleep while you wait."

Cristina nodded, though she doubted she could sleep. When the door closed and she was in the room alone, with only her toddler and two newborns for company, the lid on her emotions began to disintegrate. She realized, again, that Derek was alive, and that Owen had found him, and that Owen was coming home now. She realized that he still had no idea what had happened, no idea that she was not waiting alone. He had no idea that his children, those children he wanted so badly, were already in the world. He had no idea that they were smaller than normal, but healthy, that they were beautiful, that his daughter looked just like him.

She started crying, softly at first, and then uncontrollably. Collin put his hand on her face, watching her, but it took her a while to calm down again.

She finally felt it, the shock, the fear, the elation, and when it ran its course through her heart, when the crying died away and her tears stopped flowing, when her son reached up to dry her face with his tiny palm, she could sleep. She could close her eyes. She could finally rest.


	69. Renewal

**Renewal.**

**February 23, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina stared at herself in the mirror, marveling at the almost eighty percent loss of girth in her stomach. She still looked pregnant, but her belly hung lower now, emptier, and she felt lighter. She looked more like herself again, even though it looked like they had left one baby behind in her womb. It had been remarkable to watch Meredith shrink back down after having her twins, but seeing it on herself was a whole new level of weird. She had grown accustomed to the engorged version, so used to it that she had avoided mirrors for a while – at least the ones that showed more than her face. But even her cheeks had been rounder, fuller, and now they were back to normal. In a few weeks, maybe even a few days, she would begin to recognize herself again.

It was almost time. Owen had called her from the road half an hour ago to tell her he had arrived in the city. He was battling traffic, but the sirens in the background indicated he would get through it a little quicker than normal. She had neglected to tell him, again, what had happened while he was gone, even though this conversation was a lot less intense than the last one. She couldn't make herself say it, couldn't get those words out.

She paced the room, going from the incubators, where the twins were sleeping, to the bed, where Collin was coloring vigorously in a book given to him by one of the nurses. If he was freaked out at all by the radical change in her appearance, he gave no signs. His acceptance, his love, was unconditional. He also seemed to be trying to stay on his best behavior, perhaps sensing and reacting to her distress. He was a sensitive little boy. He also had no idea how to color, so when he wasn't burying a broken crayon in the sheets, he was trying to figure out how to get the paper wrappers off. She was fine with it, as long as he wasn't gnawing on anything.

She stepped up to the door, and then stepped back, aware that she looked like an addict at the moment. Her hair was everywhere, she was wide-eyed from lack of sleep, and she was fidgeting. She even had old bunny slippers on, stolen from Meredith.

When the door opened, it was not the man she expected, and not the man she wanted to see.

She was stilled by his presence, though. She stared at him, wonder what she could possibly say to express how disgusted she was with him right now. It was better for Meredith now. She was in there pining over her husband, holding a meet-and-greet with their kids, but the sound of her crying was still echoing. It had only been a little while ago, a little slice of this long, long night, but her perspective on the man in front of her had changed radically.

"I guess you talked to Mer," Alex said. He may have been thick-skulled, but he recognized the look on her face. "And I went home… and talked to Jo."

Cristina locked her jaw. "I could really care less. Get out."

"She kicked me out," Alex went on, uninvited. He twisted his lips, staring at the floor. His eyes were glassy, like he wanted to cry, but he was resisting it. "I mean, it's _my_ house, and she kicked me out, and told me to screw myself. I know you're pissed at me, and Mer is pissed at me, and everybody else in the universe it pissed at me, but I have to-"

"But nothing," Cristina said, cutting him off with venom in her voice. "How dare you say that to Meredith? You know what she's been through. You… you lash out like a child, and then you expect me to listen to your problems? Screw that. And screw you."

He glanced up sharply, like he was going to say something to prove her point, but the fire died away. He scratched the back of his head, crossed one arm on his chest, and shrugged.

"Where am I supposed to go?"

His words were very childlike, very young, and strange to hear when she was so furious with him. If not for the emotional storm in her, she might have relented upon hearing them. She might have forgiven him, offered him support, if this day had not been so hard on her. But this day had been hard, and she was exhausted, and there simply weren't words for how frustrated she was. She let it all out on him, because he was an easy target, and he was there.

"You are a piece of work," Cristina said. "You walk around like you rule the world. You think Mer _owes_ you something because you're the kind of idiot who falls in love with a _married woman_. You need to grow up, and accept responsibility for your actions! You're the one who screwed up things with Jo! You deserve what you got! You deserve everything you get! You just keep slamming doors and then you boo-hoo like your life is so _freakin'_ hard. Well I'm not your security blanket! So get out! I actually have people who love me, who want to see me."

He swallowed, looking again, briefly, into her eyes. He was always the man with the torch in his stomach, blowing fire at people who got in his way, but he was capable of producing a warm glow when the child inside was not at the wheel. Right now that torch seemed extinguished, and though he had always had something to say before, he had nothing now. He seemed to be floating, almost a different person for the change in his expression.

He left the room. Cristina stared after him, the anger dying away. There was no way it was just the argument with Meredith, or the fact that he had been kicked out of his house, that had brought him down so far. Something else was going on.

Cristina went to the window, to her view of the parking lot, and cringed when she saw him emerge from the emergency bay. He seemed to be on a warpath, all the way to this truck. When he got there he banged his fist into the window, fracturing it, and then pressed his face against it.

She wondered where he would go, and what he would do. Would he get so drunk that he forgot how to stand up? Would he do something destructive and land himself in jail? Would he do something unthinkable when he was alone, when he imagined that no one in the world really cared if he got out of bed again? The thought of it worried her.

She had to look away, to convince herself that she didn't care. He was a grown man. He would be fine. She was just emotional because of her hormones. She was only being dramatic, reading into a situation that was not nearly as serious as she thought. She went back to her bed and sat for a while, doing her best to forget about him. He would get over it soon enough. He would be fine. He had to be fine. He was Alex, after all.

XxX

Owen got out and stretched, taking a moment to gaze up at the sky. It was obscured by the lights of the hospital, the glaring sheen of freshly rained on asphalt. He still found it beautiful, thought, because it was a view he had been taking in for many years. It comforted him. It let him relax, knowing he was finally home. He had only been gone for a day, just twenty-four hours now that the sun was trying to come up, but it felt like much longer. It felt like months, and, ironically, to the man he had found alive in that hospital bed, it was only moments.

His companion got out as well, leaning hard against his car and gazing up at the hospital. He had been quiet on the way here but the cold air brought a smile back to his face. "I feel like we should hug or something," Swartz said, patting the top of the car.

Owen shrugged. "We could just exchange number, you know, in case we want to go find the lost colony of Roanoke or something."

"Seems just about as likely as what happened tonight." Swartz came over to his side of the car, holding out a little business card. He nodded, a serious expression in his eyes, and clasped Owen on the shoulder. "It was nice to work with you. You closed a murder case and a missing persons case for me today. If you need anything, don't hesitate."

Owen smiled, tucking the card into his pocket. "If you could… interview Derek tomorrow, I would appreciate it. I think he needs a little time to get his bearings."

"Not a problem. I have a date with my mattress."

He watched the car drive off, amused by the little whip Swartz did on his way out of the parking lot. It was freezing out, but Owen lingered outside. Even though he had had three hours to think about his insane night in the car, he was still trying to wrap his head around it. He was finally here, and he could go inside, and things were going to be fine from here. Meredith would be happy, Derek would get to meet his kids, and he could continue to refine the home he had bought for his family. It made him smile, just thinking of the future he would have.

Owen started across the parking lot, digging his hands into his coat pockets. It was almost sunrise, but the world was still a touch too dark. Cars lined every space this close to the emergency doors, but there was no one outside. It was either too cold, or too early, or too dark for them to bother waiting for incoming surgeries.

He was almost to the door when he heard someone crying. He turned toward it, curious, and found himself looking at a dark blue truck. Korev was standing beside it, his hand in the center of a fractured window, his forehead pressed into the glass.

Owen was so surprised that it took him a moment to speak.

"Korev?"

His head snapped up. His eyes were red. He looked devastated, but that devastation quickly morphed into childish anger when he saw Owen standing there. "_What_? Keep walking."

Owen stepped a little closer, eyeing the blood that dripped down the glass. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He held up his hand, sensing the aggression in the other man. He looked intoxicated. "I can sew that laceration up for you. It'll only take a minute."

Korev snorted, pulling his hand out of the glass. It crumbled and trickled down, dispersing at his feet. Despite the damage radiating from the center, the window stayed in place. It was eerily red at the center. He turned his hand around in front of him, examining it, and scowled at it. "It's fine. It's superficial."

"Still, it looks like it could use a few stitches. Quick and ugly is my specialty."

Owen did not want to let him leave, not only because he seemed drunk and he Owen had a feeling he would try to drive home, but because he seemed distressed, and Owen could not in good conscience let him walk away and do something stupid. He knew he should have gone straight upstairs to see Cristina, but he reasoned that she would be fine. She had her friends.

Korev took a hard breath, and then shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."

He took his colleague to the emergency room, instructing him to sit on one of the empty beds. He pulled the curtain around them and sat down, taking his hand tenderly and picking the glass out with tweezers. He watched the other man's face as he worked, recognizing the look in his eyes. He had seen it too many times to count.

"You lost someone," Owen said quietly, nonchalantly.

Korev scratched his head with his uninjured hand. His mind was a million miles away. His voice was distant, but calm. He had lost his aggression in favor of solemnity. "Yeah. Happens."

"It does," Owen responded. He ran a cleaning solution over the hand. "Someone close to you?"

"Haven't seen her for years. _God_. Over a decade."

"How did it happen?"

Korev sort of snorted at that, like the question amused him, but it only lasted a second. His eyes fogged and he drew his sleeve over his face, clearing his throat. "Suicide."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for that."

Korev flexed his hand, his eyes tracking the blood falling over the silver procedure tray. "Thanks for that, Dr. Drew. I know that."

"If you're not blaming yourself, why do you look guilty?"

"Maybe because your girlfriend is an asshole." He tried to pull his hand away, cringing when Owen held onto it. "Can you finish it up? I have somewhere to be."

Owen put a rush on the stitches. "Have you been drinking?"

Korev glared at him. "I'm not on call.

"But you're driving home."

Owen must have hit a nerve. Korev jumped up, ripping his hand away. "Why don't you worry about yourself?" Korev demanded. He threw the curtain back. "I don't need this crap."

"I'll call you a cab," Owen offered.

"I'm walking." Korev turned, holding out his arms. "Unless you have a problem with that? Huh? You wanna hold my _hand_?"

Owen sighed, setting his tools in the tray. He wanted to go after him, but he was sure it would only make things worse. Korev would probably stumble home to his wife, and then show up in the morning to get his stitches finished. He would shake off his frustration and find a way past his grief. Or that was what Owen hoped would happen. He could not dwell on it.

He had other places to be.

He went to the elevators, mulling around until one of them opened up for him. Kepner was getting off. She smiled when she saw him, knocking him in the shoulder as she passed. She seemed to be on the way somewhere, but she stopped long enough to grin at him, and got distracted enough to crash into another person who was walking down the hall. He laughed, curious, and boarded the elevator. Perhaps she had been by to see Derek, and it made her giddy.

When he finally made it to the room number Cristina had given him, he wondered if a mistake had been made. He was on the maternity ward, which made him think of Meredith, but her room was down the hall. Had she been moved? It would make sense to put her in a bigger room if they were going to let Derek stay with her, but Derek should have been in the ICU, being monitored in case he had another seizure. It was unlikely, but still a possibility.

Owen had that concern on his mind as he knocked, and when he entered the room, he almost commented on the strange circumstances.

And then he realized that Derek was not there.

Cristina was standing in the middle of the room, staring at him, looking like she had gone the entire night without sleep. Her hair was messing, she was wearing bunny slippers, and she looked halfway between wanting to slap him and hug him. Collin was sitting up on the bed, watching him, but he had been coloring before. And beside the bed there were two newborn incubators sitting side-by-side, with two tiny babies sleeping in them.

He frowned. "Why are the twins in here? Where's Meredith?"

Cristina smiled. It was a beautiful thing, and refreshing, because she no longer seemed like she wanted to slap him. "Meredith is with Derek. And the twins."

"But they're-"

He stepped closer, and he noticed the blue blanket wrapped around one of them. He noticed the sharp differences between them and the little girls he had met. It took him far too long to come to his conclusion, and even then he had to look at her stomach, really look at her to notice the difference. She had given birth to their twins. She had given birth, and he was not there. His kids were in the world, and he had not been there to welcome them.

He swallowed, still staring at the babies asleep in their beds. He could not look at Cristina. He felt too much shame. He had said so much about how he would be there. He had reassured her every day that she was pregnant, made sure she knew that he would be there to help her. But he wasn't there. He had disappeared without a phone call, with a vague note, and he had forced her to go through this alone. No wonder she looked so ragged. No wonder she had looked so furious at first. He was the monster in her life, the monster who just walked through her door.

He slid down to his knees, holding out his hand, because he had nothing else to do. "I am… I'm so… I shouldn't have…"

She came to him, slipping down to her knees in front of him. She put her hands on his face, frowned, smiled, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She held him tightly, like he really _had_ been away for months, and snuggled her face into his shoulder.

"It's okay. I'm fine. They're fine." She sunk back a little, staring at him, again with that half-smile, half-frown on her face. It was a beautiful expression, nestled into her face. "I jumped the gun a little on the whole childbirth thing. That was my bad."

He chuckled, and some of his guilt left him. "Everything went okay?"

She nodded, fixing his hair while she spoke. She needed something to do with her hands. "Well, technically yes. It went fine."

"You got a C-section? Did Karev do it?"

"If I had a big gash in my stomach, do you think I'd be down here with you?" she asked. She kissed him suddenly, passionately, and then drew away again. "I went into labor when I was with… Alex. He delivered them. In his truck. On the highway. In the middle of the night. During a storm."

Owen felt a tremor of anxiety, but he shook it away. She seemed fine, and the babies were here, so they were fine. When he really thought of it, it made him laugh, and that laugh carried over to his lover. They laughed together, until Collin started yelling gibberish at them.

Cristina pointed at him dangerously. "Hey! Does our happiness annoy you? Tough turnips, kid."

He grinned at his mother, sinking down on the bed.

Owen got up from the floor, helping Cristina up when she looked pitifully at him. He did not want to take his hands off of her, but he was drawn to the incubators, where two little angels lay waiting for him. Cristina urged him over there, taking a seat on the bed. He sat beside her. She ran her hand up and down his shoulder, across his back, and occasionally reached over to tickle Collin.

He stared at the newborns, looking back and forth between them, surprised by the differences in their appearance. His son was dark-haired, asleep, and smaller than his sister, and the girl was blonde-haired. She must have awakened when her older brother started yelling, because she looked a little miffed with the world. Her eyes were the same color as his, virtually the same shade. She seemed to be waiting for him, too, like he had waited for her.

He picked her up, cradling her as gently as he could in both arms. She barely weighed anything. She stared up at him, her little eyebrows pulling down in a youthful expression of confusion, and wiggled one of her arms around.

Cristina rested her head on his shoulder, sighing. "How pretty are our babies? Like, seriously, we should enter them in a contest or something."

He looked away briefly to kiss the top of Cristina's head, and then he returned his eyes to his daughter, fascinated with the changes in her face. "Did you… use the names we picked?"

She nodded. "Evelyn, and Noah. I thought they should have your last name. I mean, since Collin has mine. Or he will, if I ever make it to the courthouse." She leaned up, just so she could rest her forehead on Owen's cheek. "They're early, but they're at a healthy weight. Alex said they'll sleep a lot more in the first few weeks than normal, but beyond that they should be fine."

"He'll keep checking up on them, though, right?" Owen asked.

She made a face. "Arizona will. She's more experienced."

He recalled his encounter with the younger pediatric surgeon in the parking lot. "Did you see Korev before I came in? I ran into him in the parking lot and he mentioned you."

"Yeah? Did he say I hurt his feelings?"

"Something like that." Owen glanced at her, wondering what that bitter look on her face was all about. How much could have happened since he left the previous day? "I thought you said Korev delivered the twins."

"He did. We kind of… had a fight. It's nothing."

"It didn't seem like nothing to him."

Concern flashed in her eyes, but she looked away. "You should hold Noah. He feels left out. Let me have Evelyn."

He handed his daughter over, and took his son from his bed, careful not to wake him. He was smaller, more delicate, and yet he let out a strong huff of breath when Owen got him settled. It made Owen smile. He could feel the boy's heart beating. He was not wriggling and blinking like his sister, but he was strong. He would grow up sturdy, like Owen.

He looked at Cristina suddenly, recalling something he had promised her on the phone. He looked at the baby in her arms, at the baby in his arms, and at the child trying to wedge his way between them, and he was overwhelmed with warmth for all of them.

"I love you," he said. "I love our family. I will never leave like that again."

"Good." She leaned down to kiss Evelyn's cheeks. "Because if daddy leaves again, mommy has two bedpans to throw at his head, and bedpans hurt. Yes they do. Yes they do."

He smiled at the sparkle in her eyes. She looked like she did in the first days of their relationship, when the thrill of being together had made every moment electrical. It was like stepping back in time and fulfilling the dream he had had for them. He had a wife, a precious two-year-old with a limp, and two little babies he already loved to the moon and back.

It was perfect. It was impossibly perfect.

But only an hour into their reunion, when he was lying in bed with his arms wrapped around Cristina, letting Collin show him a bunch of sparsely colored pieces of paper, his phone rang. It was on a charger in the corner, and he had to leave the warmth of the bed to answer it. Cristina was already curling back up when he got it to his ear.

He was smiling when he answered.

"Hello?"

It was a woman. She sounded bright and cheery. "Hello, is this Owen Hunt?"

"Yes."

"Good morning, Mr. Hunt. I'm with Dr. Wyatt's office. I was just calling so we could schedule that appointment you requested. I'm sorry we couldn't get with you sooner."

He froze up a little on the inside and looked back at the bed. Cristina was watching him. Her dark eyes missed nothing. He unplugged the phone and stepped toward the door. "Credit card thing," he said. "Be right back. Sorry."

"Bring food with you, or don't come back!" she called.

He shut the door behind him, going into the first on-call room he could find. It was shift-change time, so the room was empty. He put the phone back to his ear, taking a deep breath to steady himself for this. He had forgotten about the call, forgotten the things he had vowed before going on the quest to find Derek. It seemed so silly now.

"I'm sorry," he began, scratching his head. "I'm actually fine now. Thank you for calling, though. Tell Dr. Wyatt I don't need an appointment."

"Are you sure? Dr. Wyatt put a note beside your message-"

"No, I'm sure. Please don't call me again."

He hung up, staring at the phone. He had a bad feeling in his chest, an uncertainty about what he had done, but he ignored it. He was going to be happy now. His children were here, he had a house to make into a home, and there was nothing to trigger him.

He went back into the room to plug up his phone, sensing her eyes on him. She followed his every move, feigning innocence as she stretched out. "What was that about?"

"It was just a bill call, standard thing," he lied.

"Then why did you leave the room?"

He stared at her, wondering if she already knew where the call had come from. It was like she could see right through him. "It was nothing. What do you want to eat?"

She eyed him for a bit longer, and then sighed, seeming to drop it. Some of that, at least, was an act. She never dropped anything. She wrapped her arms around Collin and flopped him around in the bed, provoking laughter. "Something kid-friendly. I just want something hot. Breakfast food. And please take your phone with you. If I can't contact you I swear these bedpans are gonna fly at your head. Try not to get murdered, or get in a plane crash, or whatever."

He left smiling, but as he made it to the parking lot the sinking feeling inside only got worse. He noted the empty spot where Korev's truck had been, the glass still waiting on the ground. He had driven himself home, after all. Or had he even made it home?

He got all the way to the edge of the lot before he realized that his truck was still at the police station. He cursed, sliding onto a bench, and pulled out his phone.

Someone was already calling him.

"Hello?"

It was Callie. She sounded drowsy. He could hear princess music playing in the background. "Oh, hey, I was calling to see if you learned how to answer a phone. Great job, champ."

He winced. He had gone to the station with her originally, but she had left. Cristina had told him she had been coming back and forth to the hospital all night to see the twins, and to see Derek. He admired her dedication to her friends. "Sorry. I got a little carried away."

"Well, since you're alive I guess I gotta go."

"Wait, could I ask you for a favor?"

She groaned dramatically. He heard a mattress groan. "Does it involve moving?"

"I need a ride to my truck. It's still at the police station, and Cristina wants breakfast."

"Grab a ride with Arizona. She should be getting off right about now. Oh, and don't mention the whole… me at the hospital thing. Or anything really. Just leave me out of it. She thinks I was home all night with Sophia."

"Will do. Get some sleep, Torres."

"You too. You deserve it." She paused, and then spoke a little quieter. "Take care of yourself, Hunt. I don't just mean getting breakfast."

He felt that eerie darkness again as he ended the call, but he brushed it off.

He brushed it off, and tried to forget about it.


	70. Candy

**A/N: So my boyfriend finally finished his drawing of Cristina and Collin. He is already determined to make another one featuring Cristina and Owen, because he thinks this one is inadequate, but I like it. Here is the link, if you feel like taking a peek – (( It is under Deviant Art, the art website, and my username is Jenthewarrior. It won't let me post a link :/ ****))**

XxX

**Candy.**

**February 24, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

He crept closer, curious, and plucked the object from the ground, giving if a sniff before shoving it in his mouth. He was obviously delighted, grinning like he had discovered some incredible new wellspring of sustenance, and that he alone would divulge. He also looked guilty, peeking around to make sure his mother was not watching, and that his father was still outside. He smiled to himself, satisfied with his crime, and moved on to the next in the line.

"Oh, piece of candy," Cristina whispered to herself.

He stooped at the next one, cleverly hiding it behind his body while he ate it. He was used to eating sweets because she shared whatever she had with him, but this was a new world. He was feeling naughty. She could see it in his eyes as he waddled to the next piece.

"Oh, piece of candy," she recited, keeping her eyes carefully unfocused. She pretended to look at the chair, watching him in her peripheral vision.

He began to crawl for the next one, scooping it up nonchalantly in his little hand. He was still chewing as he turned around to make sure she wasn't watching. He grinned again, proud of himself, and got back to his feet. He thought he was so clever, to have found this trail, but every step brought him closer to the inevitable conclusion.

He stepped up to the little pile, ducking under the waiting obstacle to get to his prize.

She twisted the twine around her fingers and snorted, yanking a coat hanger out of place. It had been holding the laundry basket up, and her son had been under it with his bounty of candy. It closed on him, and the moment he shrunk back in horror, sour candy hanging out of his mouth, she lost it. She laughed so hard she almost fell off the couch.

Collin grinned through the bars of his prison, continuing to chew. "Funny!" he declared.

She shook her hand at him. "No, stop! It's too much! I can't handle it!" She tried to stop laughing but her son was laughing along now, with no idea that she was making fun of him. It only made it worse when the twins, carefully sheltered in the new recliner, started crying out of confusion. Cristina laughed harder, until her stomach ached, until she felt a headache coming on.

It must have been quite a sight when Owen came back inside. He was dragging a large box along with him, but when he saw the commotion he propped it up against the stairs and came to the side of the couch, frowning. He crossed his arms, looking between the baby in the hamper, the newborns screaming from their nest on the chair, and Cristina, who was so tickled she couldn't get a breath in between hysterical laughs.

He smiled, partially out of confusion, and raised his voice above the sound of all of them. "So should I ask, or is it best left a mystery?"

Cristina did her best to find her voice. "Look… honey… I caught a… toddler!"

"I see that," he responded. "Is there any reason he's still in the basket?"

She threw her head back. "He's just so… dumb! He thinks it's funny! Look at him!"

"He's not dumb," Owen objected.

"I mean that with all the love," Cristina qualified. She snorted again, burying her face in the nearest pillow. "Look at him smiling! I can't! Owen, I can't."

Owen sat down beside her, making the whole couch shift. When she moved the pillow, tears in her eyes, he was smiling at her. He shook his head with mock disapproval. "How many times did you try that before it worked?"

She laughed again, glancing at the toddler in the hamper. He was still laughing like he was in on the joke. It made her giggle.

"Come here, buddy," Owen said, leaning over and holding out his arms.

Collin flipped the basket off of him, but instead of going around it, he stuck to true two-year-old form and tried to go over it. He got his bad leg inside, but as he tried to climb over his foot got caught on the edge, he rolled into the side, and the basket flipped on top of him.

Owen and Cristina burst into laughter. She buried her face in the pillow again and Owen let out a deep belly laugh. Still, the twins wailed at them, confused by their noise.

Collin started sniffling and Owen retrieved him, settling back into the couch with him. He pressed his hair down, still laughing. "It's okay, buddy. You're okay."

"Are we bad people?" Cristina wondered. She slid unwillingly from her spot and got on her knees beside the chair, putting a hand on each of the baby's chests. It always seemed to calm them. "No, no, we're good people. Good parents. We're just making up for the teenage years in advance."

Owen held Collin up, his hands big enough to cover the kid's whole chest, and then started tossing him up and down, successfully stopping the sniffles. "We have a while to go," he said.

Cristina turned her eyes on the twins, who were looking at her, teary-eyed. She whispered to them. "I promise I won't draw eyebrows on you with permanent marker. But I will get you those pacifiers that make it look like you have hillbilly teeth. Oh, and the mustache ones."

"We are not getting them mustache pacifiers," Owen objected. He was in the middle of tickling Collin. It was remarkable he had even heard her over the giggling.

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Daddy thinks he can make rules. What a silly man."

Evelyn smiled, throwing her arms around. Noah began to stare around them, losing interest in watching her. She had noticed that between the two of them, they had the attention span of a squirrel. One moment they were crying, and the next they were laughing hysterically at the ceiling fan. Evelyn was already the hard one, always igniting the crying fests and occasionally whacking her brother in the face. Noah was quiet, thoughtful.

"I have to go back to the store to pick up the washer, dryer, and… I think the oven." Owen got up, trying to set Collin down, but giving up when the kid curled up his legs like a dead spider. "And I guess I'm taking Collin with me."

"Knock yourself out. Not literally." Cristina looked up, smiling. "You know, try not to get in a plane crash, or get shot, or get hit by a bus while crossing the street."

He leaned down, kissing her on the lips, and then the forehead. "It's nice to see you so happy."

"Well, I'm at home, and we now have two pieces of living room furniture, and I can almost see my feet again. Plus, I totally caught Collin in a baby trap, so my day has been productive."

"I'll be home soon. Please don't draw eyebrows on the twins."

"What kind of mother do you think I am? They have to be at _least_ six months old before I do that. Geez. Would you go already? I have a mountain of dirty clothes waiting on you."

She got a call almost the moment she heard the SUV start up outside. She rolled her eyes, thinking it might be Owen calling to tell her that Collin had changed his mind about going with him, but it was a different man, another familiar voice she would not mind hearing every day.

"You better not be calling to tell me my hospital is on fire."

She had, for the entirety of her time back in Seattle, been running the hospital from afar. It was simple. She only had to approve budgets, surgeries, and guests with her tablet. It was barely a job, but Shane was not nearly petty enough to do it. Her disconnect over the last few days had really put it into a new perspective for her – it was no longer her hospital, really. It was his now. She had put him in charge for a reason. But she still had the urge to go back, even with the two little creatures making cooing noises beside her. She still wanted it to be hers.

Shane sounded sweet, as always. "Hello to you, too. No, the hospital is not on fire. Surprisingly I'm actually good at the administration thing. You would know that if you ever checked your email. I was calling to see how you were doing. I got your text."

She had hastily texted him that morning to tell him about her kids being born. She almost gave him a sarcastic response, but something forced her to be honest. It was Shane, after all. He may have been halfway across the world, but he was still her friend. "I'm tired, but that's normal. I can finally move like I used to. My stomach looks like a deflated balloon though. It's hilarious."

"I sent a nice basket of chocolate out for you. It should be there in a few days. I got it from that fancy bakery in the village, with the truffles."

"Shane, you rock my world."

He laughed. "I'll come down as soon as I can. I want to meet them."

"I have the next week off, so no need to rush."

"Only a week? Dr. Webber shorted you."

"I asked to come back early. I had to go on leave for my pregnancy, anyway. I just want to get back into the OR. Momma really needs to cut."

"You could just-"

"I trapped Collin in a laundry basket today."

He snorted. "Okay, yeah, you need to do surgery. I was going to say you could just start slow, you know, only work a few days a week so you have time for the kids."

"Owen suggested that, too."

He was silent for a moment. Her text had also included her concerns about the mental status of her lover. Only an hour before sending it, she had been sitting up in bed, trying to comfort him in the midst of another horrific nightmare. She regretted sharing that information, but she was also glad someone knew. She had not spoken to her other outlet, Alex, in days.

"How is Dr. Hunt?"

She swallowed. "Better, now that the twins are here. He still has night terrors and he just gets… frustrated really easy. Today is a good day, though."

"But tomorrow might not be."

"I know I sent you that text, with all my secrets and feelings in it, but I don't need you to shrink me, Shane. I know what I'm doing." She did her best to change gears. "If you do come over, make sure you bring more chocolate, and a bottle of tequila."

"Aren't you breastfeeding?"

"I can dream." Cristina responded. "Seriously, I need the alcohol. I'll just gaze at it, I promise."

"I don't think-"

"Shane, imagine two footballs passing through your-"

He cleared his throat. "Not a visual I wanted, but-"

"Conditions have been set. Meet them, or get the door slammed in your face."

"I love you, too."

She twisted her lips. "Love you, buddy. Get me chocolate and booze or get the trap door pulled on you."

"I actually wouldn't be surprised if you had a trap door."

"God, me either. What kind of person does that make me?"

When the call ended the house got quiet. Evelyn and Noah were making little cooing noises and gurgling, as always, but everything else faded away. Cristina slumped against the chair, her knees still folded into the hardwood floor, and let out a puff of breath. She wished Collin had stayed. At least she could talk to him, even if he only spoke English when he wanted to.

Her doorbell rang. She looked up, like a meerkat trying to determine if there was danger afoot. Until now she hadn't even known they had a doorbell.

"Owen? Cristina? It's me!"

She sighed. It was Evelyn – the older one. She vaguely remembered Owen mentioning that she would come by that evening to meet the babies, but it was still early afternoon. Cristina was wearing a pair of cloth pajama bottoms and a tank top and she hadn't brushed her hair in two days. She had half a mind to pretend she wasn't home, but Noah kept making loud noises, and then little Evelyn smacked him in the face, so he started crying. Cristina groaned and slid down to the floor.

Her houseguest knocked this time. "Cristina?"

Cristina dragged herself upright. "Coming!"

She let her mother-in-law in, guiding her to her newborn grandchildren. While Evelyn cooed over them, Cristina retreated to the couch and put her feet up, doing her best to smile every time Evelyn looked back. Suddenly she was feeling tired again. Her sparse sleep was catching up to her. Evelyn didn't seem to notice. She was fixated on the babies for a good while.

Eventually she ended up sitting beside Cristina, with Noah in her arms. She had a radiant smile on her face, much like the one Cristina had seen the day she had walked up to her porch with Owen. It was like she was seeing him come home all over again.

"You look exhausted, sweetheart," Evelyn commented.

Cristina shrugged. "Long night. Busy morning."

"Were you giving your mommy a hard time?" Evelyn asked Noah, leaning down to kiss his fat cheeks. He seemed elated with this, and he started flopping his arms around.

Cristina smiled, just watching them, not bothering to correct her. Evelyn and Noah rarely cried during the night. She got up to feed them every two hours, but neither of them really woke up for the experience. What stole her rest was something else entirely, and she would never reveal that to this woman. It would break her heart, to know that her son was sinking back into that sandy pit he had almost drowned in years ago.

"So, are we having spaghetti again? Where's Owen?"

Cristina stood up, taking Evelyn from the nest in the recliner and sitting on the couch with her. She liked to hold one of them when she felt tired. It helped her stay aware. "He went to get some stuff. He'll be back soon. Make yourself at home."

And she did. And they talked. But their conversation never escalated. If the older woman sensed that something was wrong in that house, she did not comment. She only attached herself to Cristina, and moved where she moved. She comforted the crying babies. She changed them, and always had her arms full with one. She stayed all evening, entertaining Collin with shadow puppets, and listening to Owen's creative retelling of the adventures with the hamper earlier. She smiled and laughed, and her son did, and Cristina did, too.

When his mother finally left, it was dark outside, and Cristina lingered in the kitchen. She was sitting on the counter, staring at a sink full of dishes and wondering if she could work up the willpower to do them. She was full of spaghetti, and she had definitely had her fill of socialization for the next month, but something was bothering her. She could not shake her conversation with Shane, because it had made her think of Alex. Owen had a few days off to spend with the twins, and she had not been back to the hospital, so she had not seen her friend. He hadn't called, or texted.

Owen came back into the kitchen, having spent over half an hour wrangling a naked toddler into the bathtub. His shirt was soaked, but he was still smiling.

He stepped up to the counter, cupping her face with one soapy hand and kissing her cheek. She recoiled, grimacing. "I know where that kid has been."

"In a bathtub, getting clean," Owen responded. His smile came down a level. "What's wrong? I thought you did great tonight. I know you don't like… family stuff… but mom had fun."

"It's not that," she said. "I was just thinking about something else. Dark and twisty stuff."

"Well we are surrounded by bright and shiny stuff," he reminded her. "It's time to attempt to give the twins a bath. Come on."

"Go ahead and get started. I have to make a quick call."

He frowned. "You sure?"

She leaned in to kiss him, smiling against his lips. "It'll only take a second. Go ahead. Besides, undressing them is the hard part. Prepare to be screamed at."

She went out on the back deck, leaning against the railing as she dialed. It was freezing outside, practically the surface of a glacier, but if her call made it through she couldn't let Owen hear it. She listened to the ringing, discouraged by every consecutive sound.

Until she heard his voice at last.

"Alex's phone. Leave a message or whatever."

She frowned. "Alex, hey. I thought we should talk. It's been a while. Okay, it's been two days, but you know I'm impatient. So call me back."

When she hung up, she lingered, watching the screen shift into blackness. She knew it was silly to let this thought – thoughts of someone she sort of hated at the moment – bleed through into her happy home, but she was reminded of what he had done as he had left the hospital, right before Owen had arrived, on the day her twins were born. Owen had told her that Alex seemed to be grieving, that he had only let Owen put a few stitches in his hand. He hadn't elaborated, but Owen suspected he was drunk, and he said he had driven home.

She leaned over the railing, blowing out a heavy breath. "Come on, Alex, you idiot. Just call me back. Just let me know you're okay."


	71. Disappeared

**Disappeared.**

**February 25, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina folded her candy bar wrapper into a perfectly symmetrical paper airplane. She waited, her knees doing all the work in holding the baby, and lined her hand up with the edge of the couch. She could hear them running, sprinting through her new house like they had never seen circular rooms before. Soon she would have her target in sight. When the door to the left bedroom opened, and three small children shot out, she let her plane go. It soared right over their heads and landed on a box by the front door, soon to be mushed under their little feet.

She sighed, resting her head on the couch again. It was the new couch – less than a day old, and so soft that she wanted to spend the rest of her life on it. Owen had designated this couch for the foyer, because he said the glow of the fireplace really gave it that special something, but Cristina had spent almost an hour that morning trying to switch it with the one in the living room. Owen had stood by and watched, advising her, in a gentle tone, to give up her quest. She was content now that the fireplace was roaring, sending a warm glow over the gathered adults, and now that she had her best friend sitting beside her. Meredith seemed to enjoy the new furniture as well, having tested out every cushion before settling on the one right beside Cristina. She leaned into her shoulder now, looking dreamily into the fire, with Evelyn in her arms.

It was a nice, quiet evening, save the occasional battle cry of the three young children destroying things in other parts of the house. Meredith and her brood had only been there for an hour, and yet Owen had lost two of his newly bought ceramic bowls to their assault. He had given up on trying to stem their energy, and had begun construction on a new entertainment center on the floor by the fire. He was also close enough that Cristina could use his shoulder as a foot rest.

"I think that one hooks into the left socket," Derek advised from his place in the recliner. He still looked tired from what he had been through, but his eyes shone in the firelight, and ordering Owen around seemed to bring him joy. He had little Noah in his arms, providing a nice napping place for the meeker of her twins. Noah also seemed to like listening to men talk.

Owen looked up, his eyes narrowed. "I have the instruction booklet in my hands. It says it goes in the right socket. I think I can put a shelf together."

"Entertainment system," Cristina corrected cheekily, smiling when he glared at her. She glanced at Meredith, who was amused by her words. "Which reminds me, your precious little Ellis here just dropped a big one on my arm."

Meredith shrugged. "Sorry. I have Evie right now."

"Okay, one, that's not her name, and two, take your baby back, Mer."

She looked away, feigning innocence. "Gee, that's weird. I thought I heard somebody talking about changing diapers. It must have been my imagination."

"I kinda like Evie," Owen said.

"Oh, would you put the thing in the socket?" Cristina snapped at him. "Mer, take this baby. She smells like a rotting fish. I think it's broken."

Meredith laid her head back on the couch, frowning pitifully. "Can you change her? I have this bad pain in my side. You know. From giving birth and almost dying. Insides, ripped up like little spaghetti noodles. I just feel so… weak."

"And I can't even walk," Derek added, mimicking her sad frown. "I lost the will to… change dirty diapers. I can see the light. I can see it… calling to me."

Meredith reached out, taking his hand. "Don't go toward it. Cristina, help us."

"You guys are sad," Cristina remarked, sliding unwillingly off of her comfy couch and glaring at the two of them. "I mean, it's just so sad. I feel _so_ sorry for you."

Her friends laughed, their eyes bright as they looked at each other, and even though she was disgusted with them at the moment, she had to admit that seeing them together again was like living in a dream. Meredith looked so happy, and Derek glowed despite everything he had been through. It was just as radiant as it was annoying, to have them both here.

"Just a warning, Noah usually misses the diaper," Cristina said, shrugging at Derek. "If you feel something warm, you should probably try not to breathe through your nose."

Owen started laughing now. "I wish she was joking."

Cristina went into the nursery, smiling, and laid Ellis out on a changing pad. Her husband had ensured that this room was one of the most complete in the house, with two cribs side-by-side in the corner, a cute little giraffe dresser, and a sunshine rug that covered the scuffed-up hardwood. It was warm thanks to a little heater by the door, warmer than even the fireplace, and Owen had hung stars from the ceiling to mesmerize the kids. It was working on Ellis already.

She changed her, constantly amused by the gurgling sounds Ellis made. She wiggled her arms around, reaching more or less for the ceiling, and alternated between smiling and gazing in wonder. She looked just like her father, with an obnoxiously adorable curly black tuft of hair on the top of her head and pretty blue eyes, but her expressions were obviously learned from Meredith. She knew who the top dog was in her house, and she emulated her, just like Collin emulated Cristina. She was also easy-going, keeping her legs still while Cristina worked on her. She was the opposite of the twins who lived in this room – they thought getting their diapers changed meant they were supposed to flail around like fish on dry land. It was horrible.

When the baby was fresh and clean, Cristina kissed her exposed belly, smiling. "How would your mommy feel if I started calling you Ellie?" she wondered. "Or Paul. Just because. Paul the baby."

Meredith appeared in the doorway, still cradling Evelyn in both arms. She twisted her lips, that glow never leaving her face. "I heard that. And you know you can't just call her Evelyn her whole life. She needs a nickname. Evie is cute. It's easy to say."

"So is Paul."

Meredith laughed. "You know, I missed you."

"You need to lay off the drugs, because I've been here the whole time."

Meredith sat in the rocking chair, glancing down at Evelyn while she spoke. "No, I missed _this_ you. You know, the dangerous Cristina, the one who speaks her mind and doesn't give a damn about the consequences. I feel like she was gone for a while. But now she's back."

Cristina stared at her. She was so tired of hearing that. Alex had said the same thing, but she saw no difference in her behavior. She was the same person. How could both of them come to the same conclusion, when that conclusion was so obviously wrong? She held her tongue, though, because she had her suspicions about the truth. Owen had gotten better over the last few days, since he threw himself into getting fixing up their new home. Meredith must have seen how relieved she was, how free she felt, now that she had stopped walking on eggshells.

But she didn't want there to be a difference. She didn't want to have conditional freedom. She didn't want to live her life always waiting for him to lose himself again. Meredith's words ignited that flame again, that realization of how unfair it all was, but she kept her mouth shut. She could not talk to Meredith about this. She didn't even know why. Whenever she tried to, her throat closed up, and she felt like crying. She could not get the words out, or even think them, when her best friend was sitting there with those wide, caring eyes. She was too close. It was too soon.

Meredith slid out of the chair, placing Evelyn down beside Ellis. She scooted around the babies on her knees and grabbed both of Cristina's hands, giving her that impossible look of worry. "I keep seeing that look in your eyes, like you want to say something. Just say it. I'm here. I'm listening. Just talk to me."

Cristina shook her head, resisting tears. Her lip was trembling. She ran her sleeve forcibly over her mouth, trying to get it to stop. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing." Meredith tugged on her shoulder, and then pulled her into a hug, cradling her like Cristina was one of her kids. "You don't have to tell me. You don't have to tell me. Just let me be here. Let me be here for you."

Cristina resisted the hug at first, vehemently opposed to any display of emotions. She hated looking weak, especially when she felt so powerless. It was not how things were supposed to be. Eventually she gave in and wrapped her arms around Meredith, letting out a few ugly sobs into her shoulder. She said what she could, without breaching the topic that meant too much to her. "It's not supposed to be like this. My life is not supposed to be like this!"

Meredith stroked her hair. "I know you're tired. I get it. Trust me."

"It's not just the kids, Mer," Cristina drew away, wishing she could speak her mind without choking on her words. "It's just… I want to be _me_ again."

Meredith lowered her voice to a whisper. "You can be whoever you want. I would support you if you decided you were the reincarnation of Elvis. Who's stopping you?" She started rocking her, like she was a fussy toddler. "Huh? What's stopping you?"

Cristina pulled away, pulling her shirt up over her face to stem the tears. She was still gasping for breath, still blinking tears again, when she let the fabric fall back into place. Meredith was watching her, waiting patiently, her arms poised to draw her into another hug. Cristina looked down at the babies instead. "Stupid hormones."

"Not just hormones," Meredith said. "You can talk to me. Just _talk_ to me."

Cristina took her daughter from the mat and got to her feet. "Congratulations. You made me cry. Just like the dishwasher did last night. Just like that stupid movie with the penguins. Please, just drop it. It was nothing. It was just… hormones. Overflowing hormones."

Her friend got up as well, scooping up her own daughter. She seemed to want to say more, but she just pressed her lips together. "Okay. But if you need to talk, you know I'm here."

"I know, Mer. Geez. Would you go make a toaster strudel or something?"

"Why would I-?"

"Stop questioning me." Cristina left the nursery, ending up at the front door. She saw movement behind the curtain. Before she could undo the lock, the doorbell rang. She flinched at the sound. It was more like a fire alarm, too new for its own good.

Meredith came to her side. "You have a doorbell now?"

"Yeah. Apparently people use it when they want to come in, or something. I usually ignore it."

Cristina opened the door, stepping back in the warm living room as the chill swept in.

Callie came through like she owned the place, going straight for a hug, and then withdrawing, frowning. "Why are you crying? Did somebody hit you? Who do I need to hurt?"

"Mer did it," Cristina said.

Meredith still looked like she was caught in an emotional vortex, but she managed a slight smile at that. "Hormones. We had a moment."

Callie looked between them, uncertain, and then she reached for Evelyn. "Oh, give me that."

Cristina ducked away. "I just got her back. Get your own. Lexie is on the couch in the foyer."

While her mother went to join the boys in the foyer, Sofia took a few long, adorable steps into the house and listened for the sound of her friends. When she caught sight of them darting down the hall, she gave chase. Arizona stepped in after her, finally shutting the door to keep the cold out. She set a cake display on the counter and smiled at Cristina, but she seemed down.

Meredith went over to her. "Long day? If you need you baby fix, my arms are tired."

Even though babies were her entire life, the pediatric surgeon shook her head. Her sad eyes were becoming overwhelming. "Oh, no, I'm fine."

Meredith withdrew the baby, frowning. "What's wrong?"

Arizona crossed her arms, appearing insecure, and leaned against the counter. It was strange to see her so sad, after year of working with the bright and bubbly version of her. "I just… have you guys heard from Alex? He didn't come to work yesterday and I can't get in contact with him. I went by his house, but Jo said she kicked him out. I mean, what is even happening?"

She had an idea of what was happening. Cristina had told him to tell Jo the truth, and when he did, she kicked him out of his own house. When he came to tell her about it, probably looking for the support she had promised him, she had turned him away. She had yelled at him, said some horrible things about what he deserved in life, and then he had left. He had gone downstairs, torn his hand open punching his truck, and Owen had given him a few stitches. Her husband had cared more for Alex that day than she had, even though she was supposed to be his friend. It stung, hearing his mentor worry about him. She was right to be worried. The last time Cristina had seen Alex, he had looked devastated, and Owen had suspected his pain went deeper than just getting yelled at by his friends. Something had happened, and no one was there for him.

She did her best to hide her concern, but it bled through her voice. "Do you think… something happened to him? I mean, he hasn't contacted anyone?"

Meredith, who had begun with a sour expression, because she was still angry about what he had said to her that night, seemed to drop her prejudice. She repositioned the baby in her arms, stepping closer to Arizona. "He hasn't called or anything? Why did Jo kick him out?"

"Did he call out of work?" Cristina wondered.

Arizona nodded. "Myrna said he called in sick, but she wouldn't tell me what he said, exactly. She thinks she has doctor-patient privilege or something."

Cristina could not stand the thought of her friend dead in a ditch somewhere, or rotting in the drunk tank at the local police station. "Can you hold her for a second?" Cristina asked, handing Evelyn over to Arizona. She flashed her phone. "I'm gonna see if I can get him to respond."

She went to the bathroom, sitting on the top of the toilet. She called him twice, groaning when it went straight to voicemail. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't in a talking mood, either. She sent him a text instead, hoping he would read it instead of just deleting it on the spot.

_I need you to tell me that you're okay. If you don't, I'm calling the police and reporting you missing. So message me back, or get your face on a milk carton._

She waited. It only took him a moment to respond.

_Don't call the police. I'm fine._

She breathed a sigh of relief, sitting on the edge of the tub. She had to rewrite her message six times before she got it to sound like a real apology, and even the it was lacking. He would understand. He knew she hated this touchy feely stuff.

_I shouldn't have said those things. I was just cranky._

He responded quickly again.

_Just enjoy your family._

She didn't like the sound of that, especially coming from Alex. She recalled what Owen had said again. He thought Alex had lost someone that night. He thought that was the real reason for his sadness, not his argument with Cristina. She imagined it as a culmination of the circumstances.

_Where are you? I can bring Chinese._

It took him much longer to reply this time.

_I don't want you here._

_Come on. You know you want an eggroll._

She waited, staring at the screen. Several minutes passed. He must have gotten tired of their conversation. She was about to leave the bathroom to report what she had learned when her phone dinged again. She opened the message, eager, but as she read it her heart dropped.

_Tell Robbins I'm sorry._

Cristina left the bathroom, feeling a little numb. Arizona and Meredith were still waiting by the door, and both frowned, matching the dark scenes playing out in Cristina's head.

"Did you get through to him?" Arizona asked, fidgeting.

"We need to go. Now."

"Go where?"

"I don't know. Where does he hang out? What hotel would he stay at if he got kicked out of his house?" Cristina sent a quick reply while shrugging on her coat_. Tell me where you are. I'll come get you. Just send me the address._

Meredith went into the foyer, dumping her baby off with Owen, and Arizona quickly did the same. Cristina led them out to her car, not even bothering with a seatbelt as she hit the road. Her passengers were eerily quiet, forgetting all of their questions and sinking, however momentarily, into their own thoughts. Arizona broke first. She put her hand on Cristina's shoulder.

"What did he say to you?"

"Here." Cristina handed over her phone. "Read that."

When the pediatric surgeon – practically the mother to the missing man – got to the end of the messages, she handed the phone back, shaking her head. "He wouldn't… not Alex."

Cristina turned onto the highway, glaring at the hotels that dotted the edges of the city. "Alex could afford any of these places. How are we supposed to find him?"

"You're the one who dragged us out here!" Meredith said. She was looking at the hotels as well, her expression becoming discouraged. "He likes the ones where they put the little chocolates on the pillows. So something expensive. Something luxurious."

"Before he went off the grid, did he say anything to you about someone dying?" Cristina asked. "Owen said… I think someone he knew died."

"No." Arizona was staring into her phone. When she shut it off, she had tears in her eyes. "Please tell me that this is not happening. Please tell me this is just some massive misunderstanding!"

Cristina whipped into the nearest parking spot, at the first hotel they encountered. She stared at her passenger, wondering how she had gone from determined to completely falling apart in just seconds. She put her hand on Arizona's shoulder. "Alex is fine. We're just overreacting because we love him. We're gonna find him, and he's gonna be fine, and we'll laugh about this later."

"I didn't say anything, at work," Arizona said, sobbing between words. "He was being a jerk, so I was avoiding him. But I saw him in the breakroom… he just looked so… sad."

"So suck it up, and do something about it now," Cristina snapped.

"What if it's too late?" Arizona demanded.

"We'll find him. It's not too late. I'm not letting this happen to him."


	72. Sleepwalking

**A/N: Dawn, I was thinking of the same scene! It's so weird, because I was watching that scene online earlier and then I read your comment. We must be on the same wavelength.**

**XxX**

**Sleepwalking.**

**February 26, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"_I told him to go find somebody who cared… I can't believe I said that to him. He just looked so… I should have… What if he…?"_

Cristina stared at her phone. It was lying on the mattress beside her, half-covered by her sheets, and so silent that she wanted to throw it at the wall. She was tired of this quiet room. She was alone in here. Her son had slept in his own bed all night. Her twins were snoozing away, halfway through feeding times, oblivious to her conflict. Her husband was at work, concerned, but a lot less worried than she was about this situation. She was alone here with her thoughts, pushing on through the darkness, wondering what could happen in one night, what could take one of her closest friends away from her so suddenly.

"_If you hear from him, could you call me? I know this is all my fault, but I just… I can't even think about it. I can't even imagine what I would do if…"_

She knew what she would do if the worst were true. She would just go on. She would keep moving, like she had when she lost her dad, like when Burke walked away from their wedding, like when George died, like when Izzie disappeared. She would keep moving, and doing surgeries, and being the same person she always was – just a little emptier for it. She would be a little lonelier. She would lose some sleep at night, wondering what his last moments were like, wondering if she could have done more to help him. She would curse herself for snapping at him, for turning him away when he needed her. She would blame herself, and Meredith would blame herself, and Jo would blame herself, and Arizona would do the same. She would be devastated.

"_He said he wondered if I even cared about him in the first place, and I just… I asked him if he cared about anything, ever. I was so hurt… that he felt for her…"_

She knew that he cared about things. He could be cold, and calloused, and carefree, but there was a gentler side to him, one that loved so deeply that he was doomed to be hurt every time. It seemed that way, at least. He had lost out with the ferry crash survivor. He had been abandoned by Izzie. His other relationships were short and they always ended with some kind of betrayal. He was a magnet for that kind of stuff, but so was Cristina. So was Meredith. She wondered if Jo could understand how deeply he cared, having only known him for a relatively short time.

"_When I told him about Derek coming back he just… he lost it. He said it figured. He thinks… he thinks God is pissed off at him, or something. He just… he just left."_

It must have hurt, to know that Derek had returned, and that his affection for Meredith would go forever unrequited. Where there was only the lack of hope before, there must have been devastation upon hearing that news. Jo would have thrown it at him, as revenge for getting her feelings hurt. She must have used it to tell him just how sad he was, just like Cristina had. It was strange now, to think of how parallel their speeches must have been.

"_He called me that night… drunk… He begged me to come home. He begged me. What kind of person could just…? I should have… Oh, God, what did I do?"_

Cristina grabbed her phone and slid it closer, sighing at the blank screen. She had no messages. "You killed my friend," she responded softly, talking to a memory she had formed hours ago, when she had returned home from her search. "And so did I."

She rolled over, curling up under her sheets. Her conversation with Jo had only deepened her concern for her missing friend. She had learned nothing new, apart from how desperate he had been to come home the night he left. It hurt her heart, to imagine him clinging to a payphone somewhere, pleading with her, desperate for someone to be there for him. If he had called her, Cristina would have helped him. Her anger toward him was nothing in the face of that knowledge. She hated Jo for how she turned him down, but she also pitied her. She sounded so broken up about it on the phone. She was already going through hell, imagining that she caused something catastrophic to happen to the man she loved.

Cristina hoped it had not gone that far, but she had no way of knowing. She had spent four hours going to hotels with Meredith and Arizona the night before, until the three of them were barely awake and they stopped finding people in the lobbies. She had visited the police station and every bar she knew he liked, but she found no sign of him.

He stopped responding to messages, and wouldn't answer their calls. His last text, the one that had ignited her search, was still sitting open on her phone. It had set something off in her, a desire to get up and drag him home, but it had failed her. She had failed him.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

She sat straight up, staring at the new message she had received from Alex. Just seeing his name pop up allowed her a breath of relief, because her friend wasn't dead. He was alive, and he was okay enough to send her a text, even after making her worry all night.

_Stop freaking out. I'm fine._

She smiled despite herself, despite not believing a word of that message. _Prove it. Come to my house. Come prove it to me and I'll drop it._

He took a moment to respond.

_Fine. Whatever._

She set the phone down. She had not expected him to agree to her demands. Either he was really fine, and they had panicked for no reason the night before, or he was determined to _convince_ her that he was fine. She wondered how he even knew that she was freaking out. Had he seen them looking for him the night before? Was he simply tired of getting texts from her? Or had her companions started in on his phone? She knew Arizona had been texting him all night, concerned about her stray duckling, and after some thought Meredith would have joined in, because despite what he'd said she still loved him. Perhaps he had texted them back, too. Perhaps he had just gotten so drunk that it took him two days to recover, and he was fine now.

Cristina waited on the couch in her pajamas, not bothering to get dressed. He was used to it. He took so long that the sun started coming up, and her toddler stirred in his bed. He wandered into the living room, rubbing his eyes, and climbed into her lap. She cradled him, stroking his back until he fell back into his dreams. It soothed her, too, to have his heartbeat next to hers.

When Alex finally came up to the door, he didn't knock. He just stood there. Cristina slid her son onto the couch and approached, watching him through a break in the curtain. He was staring at the ground, sporting the same detached expression she had seen the night she had turned him away, the same day her twins were born. She waited, too, until he jammed his finger into the doorbell. He also flinched at the sound. He seemed to brace himself, brushing off his sadness and sporting a steely look. It reminded her of the younger Alex, when they had first met.

She opened the door, and she was met with the smell of alcohol. He was standing straight, sober in appearance, but he smelled like a bar. His hair was sticking up and his face was scruffy. His right hand was wrapped in clean white bandages. He looked tired, yet determined, as he stepped into her home.

He put his arms up, spinning for her. "Look. One piece."

Cristina stayed where she was, by the door, her arms crossed. She could not help the frown on her face, or the sincerity in her voice. "What happened, Alex?"

He stopped his spin, staring at her for a split second, defiant, before he went further into the living room. He glanced at Collin, at the stairs, into her bedroom, as if he was making sure Owen wasn't home, and then he finally met her eyes. His voice was sincere now, too, but there was an underlying tremor that was heartbreaking to hear. "Just… it wasn't you, or Mer. Or, God, would you tell Robbins I'm not gonna jump off a bridge?"

"Why don't you tell her yourself?"

He scratched his head, his answer painfully honest. "It's too hard."

"What is?" Cristina came into the living room with him. She tried to keep her voice as level as possible, but she had barely slept because of this man. She needed answers.

He sighed, and shrugged, and looked away from her. "Please just… tell everyone I'm fine. And stop freaking out. I'm a grown-up. I can handle this."

"Not alone," Cristina said.

His eyes flickered to hers. "Just tell them. I have to go."

She grabbed his arm as he walked past. "If you don't want to tell me what happened, you don't have to. I'll tell them you're fine. I'll tell them to stop calling._ I_ just need to know you're okay – that you're really okay, that you're not just trying to be masculine. Seriously, Alex."

He swallowed, and lightly pulled his arm from her hold. He was still heading for the door, but he seemed to want to stay. He put his hand on the knob, bracing himself, and briefly rested his forehead on the frame. "Just stop calling." His voice was nothing more than a whisper this time, desperate, short of breath, like he had been treading water for hours.

Collin stirred. Cristina crouched down as he approached her, pointing to Alex. "Hey, sweetie, look who came to see us. Can you go give Alex a hug for me?"

Alex heaved a big sigh. "Come on. Really?"

Collin wobbled over to Alex and wrapped both arms around one of his legs, staring up at him with those big sweet eyes. He could always sense it when Cristina was upset, and she wondered if he felt it in Alex, too. It seemed that way. He seemed to take on the same sadness.

Alex to want to keep his distance from Cristina, but when the kid started hugging him, he groaned. He picked Collin up and gave him a proper hug, shutting his eyes briefly. When he put the kid down, his gaze was cloudy, and he was at a loss for words. He looked at Cristina again, thoughtful, sad, lost, and then left the house.

She stood on the front porch and watched him drive away. She was glad to have seen him, even only briefly, but she knew something was very wrong with him. He looked so childlike, so upset, and it made her wonder just how close he had been to whoever he had lost. She knew of no deaths in the area. It must have been something from his past – one of his family members. She knew he had siblings, and a deadbeat mom, but why would he hide the truth from his friends?

Perhaps the same reason she had hid the truth from Meredith. It was too hard to admit. She drew the parallel long after his truck was gone. It reawakened her desire to help him.

She went to the phone bedside table, where Owen had dumped his pockets every morning for the last week. She picked up the crumpled business card he had shown her the night Derek returned. It was the number of the detective who had helped him find the missing neurosurgeon. Owen had talked about how kind he was, and Cristina hoped it was true.

She dialed out, and within moment the line was picked up.

"Detective Swartz speaking."

"You helped Owen find Derek, right?"

Somewhere in the background, a phone rang. "Uh, who is this?"

"Cristina Yang. Owen is my husband. You helped him find Derek, right?"

"I did. What do you need, Ms. Yang?"

"_Dr_. Yang. I need you to find someone else."

"I'm sorry, I can't just-"

"Look, I know you have your protocol, or whatever, but I have a friend who's missing, and he might be in danger. I just need you to type his name into your little computer and find out where he's staying. It's an emergency."

"I don't think you understand-"

"Can you lecture me later, please? Just give me an address. Give me something. His name is Alex Karev. He's a doctor at Grey-Sloan. He's Owen's friend, too. You owe him one, right? I'm cashing it in. Right now."

He sighed on the other end. "You say he could be in danger?"

"Yes," Cristina blurted. "Well, no. I'm not sure. Just pretend I said whatever you need to hear to find him."

She heard typing. It was a beautiful sound.

"Looks like your friend checked into the Fairmont three days ago, on the twenty-third. His room number is 421. Now, listen, I'll head out there and make sure everything is okay before-"

"Oh, wait, on second thought it was Alex Carter that was in trouble. Silly me." Cristina hung up. She swept Collin from the floor and ran for the bedroom, shuffling through her contacts. Arizona picked up on the third ring. "Hey, I found Alex. I need you to come to my house right now."

"What?" Arizona sounded like she had just woken up. "Is he there?"

"No. Yes. He _was_ here. Not anymore. I need you to watch my kids while I go get him. Now get up! Because I'm leaving in exactly five minutes."

"Okay, okay. I'm on the way."

It took her eight minutes to show up, and Cristina was already waiting in her car. She motioned to the house, to the toddler standing in the window, and then peeled out of the driveway. Arizona looked bewildered, standing there, watching Cristina drive off.

It was a short trip. She made it shorter by taking the back roads and barely coming to a rolling stop at stop signs. When she finally got a view of the place, she was immediately relieved. She may have been overreacting – she knew there was a possibility that this was all a silly, hormone-induced panic attack – but there was no part of her that would dare risk it.

She took the stairs, too wired to wait for the elevator, and ended up in the wrong hallway twice. She found his room in the corner, on the fourth floor, with a 'do not disturb' sign on the door. She was not surprised to find it locked.

She pressed her ear to it, banging a few times. "Housekeeping!"

Someone stirred inside. His voice came through. "Can't you read?"

She could finally breathe a sigh of relief. She had been overreacting. She leaned against the door, letting the four flights of stairs hit her for the first time. "Open the door! I'm dying out here."

Now he sounded perplexed. "_Cristina_?"

"No, it's Santa Claus. Open up."

She stepped back, watching the handle turn, glad when the lock popped. He looked the same as he had when he left her house, if not a little confused. She stepped around him, cringing at the overwhelming smell of alcohol inside. He had about a dozen empty beer cans sitting on the table, and half of a bottle of liquor on the nightstand.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, following her. "Oh yeah, and _get out_."

"I'm not leaving until you explain yourself."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Alex grunted. He went to the bed, flopping down and grabbing his liquor. He cuddled it to his chest. "Who's watching your kids, anyway?"

Cristina took the bottle from him, jerking away when he tried to grab her. "No. No more of this until you tell me what the hell is going on with you. You skipped work, you look like a drug addict, and your liver is probably melting. You owe me an explanation."

"I don't owe you anything."

She took a swig of the liquor.

He squinted at her. "Aren't you breastfeeding?"

"I have some milk in the fridge, calm down." She walked around the bed kicking her shoes off and sitting up beside him. She took another, longer drink, and then handed the bottle back to him. "Look, just tell me what's bugging you, and we can cry about it, or whatever."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because I _need_ you," she snapped, whacking him in the shoulder. "I need to talk to you about my issues. I need you to be there, and like, you know, be Alex."

"Gee. That's so sweet. And selfish."

"Well you're not exactly selfless," she countered. "I mean, you only hang out with me because Mer makes you feel guilty. And Jo won't even talk to you."

"I thought you were here to make me feel better."

"I changed my mind. I'm here to yell at you until you stop being stupid. It the nature of our friendship, Alex. We belong to the stupid moron club. Just accept it."

He sat up a little, drinking more than she had, and then set his bottle on the table. His voice dropped down, and their bickering died away with every word he said. "I can't… talk about it." He looked up at her, that lost look filling him up again. "I'm sorry. For what I said."

She lost her fire. She lost the desire to slap him until he put his head on straight again. She slid a little closer, put her arm around him, and grabbed the alcohol again. She took another big swallow, and melted down a bit in bed, resting her chin on the top of his head. He was warm and familiar, one of the few people in the world she put so much effort into, and for the moment it felt good to be close to him. It might have been the alcohol making her so soft, though.

"It's okay. It takes more than that to get rid of me. Ask Mer."

He turned his face into her chest. "This _sucks_."

"Let it out, big guy. I'm not leaving until you do."

He snorted, and then seemed to want to pull away, but he gave up. He took a deep breath, and then tilted his head up on her shoulder, his eyes burning red. "It was my mom."

Cristina felt a twinge in her heart. "How?"

"She… a pistol. She went off her meds and she shot herself."

"When?"

"Last week. Before… before everything. I didn't think that… I just wanted… I wanted someone who understood… I can't believe I said that to Mer…"

She understood his push to be so close to Meredith now. He had spent most of his time with her. It was not a petty, boyish crush, but a desire to be with someone who cared, someone he knew was kind inside. And then he had taken it a step too far, and everything had caved in on him, just like that. She felt like crap for being one of the people to turn him away.

"I have to go to the funeral tomorrow," Alex went on, shifting around until he rested his head on the pillow. He stared at the ceiling, blinking tears away. His voice broke. "How can I…?"

"I'll be there with you," Cristina said.

He put his hands on his face, rubbing his palms into his eyes. "I hated her sometimes, you know. Sometimes I wished she would… die… But she was my mom. She used to make waffles on Saturday mornings. She… she set the waffle iron on fire last time. I got her that for Christmas, the iron." He laughed a little, but it was a sad sound. "She's gone now. My mom is gone, and I didn't visit her for ten years. I just… I should have called. I should have done something."

Cristina listened, keeping her mouth shut. She knew some things about his past, but he mostly kept stories of his mother to himself. Cristina had never even seen a picture of her.

"I must be sleepwalking…" Alex murmured, letting his hands drop down. "I feel like… I haven't been awake for a while."

"You haven't been _sober_ for a while," she corrected. She slid down, taking his hand and lying beside him, like she had so many times with Meredith.

He looked over. "Please don't… tell anyone about this."

"I won't." She met his eyes, for once able to express exactly what she was feeling. "I sucked at this friend thing once already. I won't let you down again."

"You didn't-"

"Shut up. We're having a moment."

He was only silent for about three seconds. "Thank you. For coming. And I need you, too, you know. To be Cristina."

"Well next time just call. Don't make me track you down again. I won't be nearly as nice."

"You're never nice."

She smiled, reaching over him for the alcohol. "Do I have to dress up for this funeral or…?"

"Doubt there'll be anyone else there. So no."

She drunk until the burning choked her up. "Oh, and before he gets here, there's a detective who might swing by and you know, make sure you're not dead. We can just pretend we're not here."

"I told you not to call the cops."

"Shut up and enjoy my emotional support."


	73. Combat

**Combat.**

**February 29, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She was slumped across the couch, her hand resting in the popcorn bowl, one foot on the top of the couch, the other on the floor. It was almost five, and she had hardly moved from this spot since waking up that morning. She had been monumentally drunk the night before, more so than she could remember in the last few years – or forget – and by the time she realized she should move to her bed, she was already waking up on the couch. So she stayed there, and wallowed in her hangover. Her friend was no better off. Alex had been sitting beside her for a while, slumping like an old man with a hunch. He stared at the television screen, a blank look in his eyes. She had a feeling he was deep in thought, not really seeing anything.

Cristina had no desire to revel in her memories of the previous night, but they kept coming back to her as she lay there, as she realized her drinking buddy would soon go to work. The funeral had been dreary, cold, and windy. His siblings had not come, so the two of them stood alone with the preacher and the gravedigger, and bowed their heads for a few moments. Alex had held up fine until they started lowering the casket. He had grabbed her hand, staring at it, the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He had kept himself from crying, though. He made it all the way home before he let his emotions show. Cristina had been lying in bed with him, in the room she had invited him to stay in, and he had started sobbing. She had reacted to him just like she reacted to Collin, letting him put his head in her lap, rubbing his back until the convulsions stopped, and he finally go to sleep. It was afterward, when Owen finally got home, that the two of them started drinking. She vaguely remembered encouraging Alex to skate down the stairs on a body pillow, and parts of her ached like she had done it herself, but much of the previous night was a blur. She only knew that Owen was pissed at her, and that Alex was doing alright now.

She felt guilty for being hungover, because Owen had left for work at the crack of dawn. He had woken her gruffly to tell her that she was in charge of the kids. She had fallen right back to sleep, and she woke up hours later to the sound of her twins crying. Both of them were snoozing now, all bundled up in their little nest in the recliner, but she still felt bad for falling asleep on them. Collin was much easier to please. He preferred to play alone, as per his lonely infanthood with his birthmother, and he only came into the living room to ask Cristina questions about his toys, and to demand food or a diaper change. He was an easy kid.

Cristina knew it was almost time for Alex to go, and she could accept that now, even after spending the last two days with him. He had to return to work, and try to overcome the death of a parent a second time. She worried for him, and so she watched him, measuring the changes in his face. She wished he was not such a closed book.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sorry. I was imagining you getting ready for work."

He looked up at the clock, groaning. "I feel like I got hit by a bus. Remind me to never drink with you again. I think you did some permanent damage to my back."

"Oh, cry me a river." She handed him the popcorn bowl, twisting around on the couch until she was lying on it upside down. "Did you ever tell Jo you were still alive? I'm pretty sure I called everyone else last night. Didn't I? Was I dreaming that?"

"Check your recent calls. And no. Let her squirm."

She flicked through her phone, smirking. "Oh yeah. I called them." She looked over at him, laughing. "Let her _squirm_. That's the evil spawn I love." She tossed her phone onto the table, cringing when it skipped over to the floor. "She _should_ feel bad. Like a little bug under a magnifying glass. Too bad you'll see her at the hospital."

He munched on a handful of popcorn. "Whatever. Doesn't bother me."

"You should shun her. I'll help."

"You won't even _see_ her."

"I can shun her in spirit."

He chuckled, finally losing that old man posture and sitting straight. His back popped. "Did you really convince me to slide down the railing, or was that a nightmare?"

"Oh, you slid. You slid like a greased up penguin. It was glorious."

He groaned, handing the bowl back to her. He got to his feet, stretching until his back popped again. "I gotta go. Stay out of my stuff."

He was gone before the commercials ended. Cristina lay sideways across the couch, stretching her arms out luxuriously. It was warm and homey here, after a few days of living off boxes. Owen had been working nonstop to furnish it, placing rugs in every room, putting up curtains, hanging family pictures, and, of course, stocking the fridge and cabinets. He had shifted from being obsessed with keeping her close, to being obsessed with decorating their entire house. She preferred this one, because it meant he no longer cared where she went, or who she was with. He barely even asked.

Her phone rang. She rolled off of the couch and laid under the table, answering it while looking up at a manufacturing sticker. "Hello? Hangover house, how may I help you?"

"You sound like crap." Shane had a smile in his voice.

"I spent all night celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"You know, life. Accomplishments. Whatever."

"Okay then. I was just calling to tell you my flight should land around six."

"Okay, yeah. Got it."

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"_No_. No."

"I believe you. You sound _so_ sincere. Are you picking me up or should I get a cab at the airport?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Of course. I'll come get you."

"Cristina…"

"I will. I'll be there." She rolled over, recoiling when she banged her forehead into the leg of the table. She wormed her way back out and retreated to the couch, sprawling across it. "Oh, and just so you're apprised, Alex is staying with us and Owen is grumpy."

"Owen is grumpy because of Alex?"

"Well, grumpy in general, and because of Alex. He opposes me inviting Alex to live with us."

"And why did you-?"

"Because this isn't the fifties and I get a say in what happens in this house," Cristina said. She could remember bits and pieces of a drunken argument she had had with Owen the night before, and even those fragments made her angry. "So drop it."

"Fine. Jeez."

She was silent, fuming.

"I guess I'll see you in an hour," Shane said. He waited, met only with silence, and then he started imitating her voice. "Okay, Shane. I can't wait to see you, since you came all the way from Zurich to visit me. I can't wait to see what you brought me."

She tried to resist it, but he made her smile. "Damnit, Shane. I'm trying to be pissed over here."

"Well stop it, because I'm on the way. I brighten your world, remember?"

"I remember you bitching about everything, mostly."

"I've matured since you left."

"Right. How long has it been?

"I'll see you in an hour. I'm getting nasty looks from the flight attendant."

When the call was over she let her phone rest on her stomach. It was five-thirty. Owen would be home soon. She wondered if he would pick up his frustration from the night before, or simply drop it in favor of installing a new piece of furniture in the foyer. She waited until she heard his car driving up to sit up on the couch. She watched the door, resting her chin on her folded arm.

He came in with a thoughtful expression, a hard sort of worry on his brow. He tossed his coat into the closet, not bothering to hang it up, and kicked his shoes off _near_ the rack, not on it.

"Long day?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

He finally seemed to notice her, and the smile he flashed wiped away her worry. He was in a good mood. He had lost whatever stick had been up his butt the night before. He joined her on the couch, throwing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her forehead. "You could say that." He drew away, suddenly serious. "I have to tell you something. It's about Derek."

"Did an ice-cream truck fall out of the sky and squish him?"

He laughed, but his smile faded, returning to a grim look. "No. He just came in to get his follow-up exam for that arm, with Callie. His X-ray revealed a mass on his third proximal phalange. They followed up with a contrast scan and found that it permeated all the way up to his radius. It's a superficial network and it hasn't reached anything critical yet. It appears operable."

Whatever she had been thinking fell right out of her mind. She could not grasp it anymore. She stared at Owen, repeating his words, trying to really hear them. "He has a… _mass_?"

"Callie took a biopsy, and we should get the results by tomorrow." Owen stroked her face, kissing her lightly on the lips. "From what I saw it looks benign. I think it's a result of the break. We see it sometimes when the bone shatters like that. He could be fine."

"Or he could have cancer," Cristina countered. "He could have bone cancer."

Owen let his hand fall to her shoulder. "Peters came down from oncology and ran a shotgun on him. He detected no more tumors, and nothing to indicate that Derek has cancer. His levels are normal and he feels fine. This is just a fluke. It's just left over from what happened to him."

Cristina slid closer, wrapping one arm around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. She could not express how tragically ironic this was, or how badly it would suck if this turned out to be much worse than Owen imagined. She focused on one part of it instead, focusing on something that would result whether or not it turned out to be cancer.

"His hand… will he be able to operate?"

Owen took a deep breath. When a surgeon was put out a practice, it hurt them all. They all felt it and empathized with it. "We can't know that. Callie is pretty confident that she can remove it, but the break itself is still trying to heal. It might not even be the tumor that stops him from operating. It might just be… he may never regain full use of that arm."

She rested on him for a little while, listening to his heartbeat. "Does Mer know?"

"Derek asked me to call her. She was… optimistic."

"Callie can remove it," Cristina said.

Owen kissed her forehead, and then leaned over to kiss her lips. "Let me take your mind off of it. We had a busy day. Some more kids got shot."

She shifted, wishing her mind would do the same. In the last few days escalating gang violence had resulted in more than a few innocent lives being lost in the city. She had watched the bloody reports on the news, marveling at the reckless disregard for life the shooters showed. Owen had mentioned treating one of them days ago.

"Same gang as last time?" she wondered.

He nodded into her hair. "Four kids, no older than twenty. Came in with multiple gunshot wounds. According to the witnesses, they got sprayed down by a miniature machine gun."

"Only four people got hurt?"

"Only four people got sent to our emergency room. I heard at least twelve people died at the scene, most of them suspected gang members. We got four because the university hospital got filled up with the rest of the casualties." He drew in a long breath through his nose, moving around on the cushion until he sunk further into it. "It was awful. These kids came in with sucking chest wounds, collapsed lungs, nicked arteries, and holes in every major organ. They were literally spurting blood. We had eight surgeons working on them at the same time, trying to stop the bleeding long enough to get them patched up. I mean, aside from the holes in them they were healthy, so they took a lot of trauma and kept on going, but we almost lost two of them."

"And I wasn't there."

He kissed her head again. "At the rate these guys are going, I wouldn't be surprised if they were still wheeling in victims when you come off leave." He looked around. "Korev left already?"

She tensed at the mention of her friend. She would rather talk about bloody shooting victims than discuss Alex with Owen. She still had those bits and pieces of an argument from the night before, and she knew Owen was opposed to having Alex stay there. He asked that question innocently enough, but these days his mood could change in an instant.

She responded nonchalantly. "Yeah."

"How is he doing?"

She looked at his face, suspicious of his sudden acceptance. "Uh, good, considering everything he's been through. He paid the hotel for the door your buddy broke."

"You're the one who called Swartz out there, and then ignored him when he asked if you guys were alright. You should've seen it coming."

"I didn't expect that psycho to kick the door down."

Owen chanced a glance behind her and sighed, pulling away. "How long have they been in the nest? You know I don't like that thing."

"Oh, come on, it's so cute." Cristina looked over at her genius invention, where her twins were happily whacking at the mobile hanging above them. "It also helped me realize that Noah has a deep hatred for cows. Every time it spins by him, he makes this angry gurgling sound."

Owen got up, lifting Evelyn out of her nest and cradling her. He glared at the contraption. "What if that mobile falls on them?"

"It won't fall."

"Where is Collin?"

"In his room, building a complicated society out of stuffed animals."

"Have you checked on him?"

"Like thirty minutes ago."

He seemed frustrated now. He left the room in search of Collin, and Cristina sat up, retrieving little Noah from the chair. Owen was angry again, just like she had expected. She walked around with her smaller twin, enjoying the way he gazed at her. He was the only male in the house who didn't throw tantrums when he didn't get his way. Sure, he cried a little, but he was easy to soothe. Collin took a little more effort, and Owen was the hardest one.

She wandered to Collin's room, where she found several low walls built entirely out of stuffed animals, and a toddler sitting proudly on the bed holding a council for the most prestigious of them. Owen was also in the doorway, frowning at the display.

"He's a weird kid," Cristina said. She glanced at the clock. "I have to go pick up Shane from the airport. Do you want to come, or-?"

He didn't look at her. "I'll stay here. No need to drag the kids out there."

"Okay. I mean, it would be nice for them to get some fresh air, but whatever."

"What are you trying to say?" His tone became sharp, knocking some of the peace out of the moment. Collin looked up, sensing the change.

"Nothing. I'm not saying anything." Cristina glared at him for a split second. "I guess I'll just go then, if you're gonna be grumpy."

He looked over, finally, and there was a bitter line in his expression. His voice was venomous, and she saw a new side coming out. He spoke matter-of-factly, coldly. "I'm not grumpy. I just don't like how you ignore the kids."

"How I…? I take care of the kids while you get to do awesome surgeries all day! Oh, I'm so sorry my parenting skills aren't up to par with you, Owen. I'll consult the literature next time."

He laughed. She hated the sound of it. "Take care of the kids? I'm pretty sure you laid on the couch all day, hungover, and flirted with Korev."

She felt a tremor of rage go up her spine. "So that's what you think I do? I ignore my kids? Do you see rashes on them? Did I fail to notice their ribs poking through their skin? Oh, wait, they're not starving, or neglected. What a weird presentation of my obvious failure as a parent."

"You're overreacting," he said, a patronizing edge in his voice.

"Can you hear yourself?" she demanded. "Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? Because you just accused me of ignoring our kids, or being a bad parent. And that's a funny thing coming from somebody who's barely even home. I mean, if you're not working, you're furniture shopping, or pacing in the yard!"

She went to the nursery, setting her son in his crib. She had to lean over it for a little while, staring down at his sweet face, to get the anger to melt away. She hated when it escalated like this. Only minutes ago she had been cuddled up to Owen, and now she wanted to hit him with a rocking chair. What kind of relationship could change so suddenly? She reached down and let Noah squeeze her finger, managing a smile at him.

"Hey, sweetie," she said, crouching down beside his crib. She put her face up to the mesh siding. "Mommy isn't mad at you."

It was almost six. She went back into the living room, sighing when she found Owen standing by the front door. He looked like he had dropped the attitude, but she was not interested in listening to him apologize again. She took her coat out of the closet and shrugged it on.

Owen seemed to want to come closer, but he stayed where he was. "Cristina, I didn't mean… I shouldn't have… you're not a bad… I just had a bad day."

She pushed by him. "So? You're not _three_, Owen. You don't get to snap at me because you had a bad day. You know what you do when you have a bad day? You get the hell over it! You don't accuse me of _neglecting_ our kids!"

"Cristina-"

"Don't start that crap," she said, already halfway out the door. "I'll be back later, with Shane, who is our guest. So you need to be nice to him, and if you can't do that, you need to keep your mouth shut."

She drove silently, thoughtful, imaging the expression she had left Owen with. He deserved to feel bad. She was so sick of his bi-polar mood. It would be nice to finally have someone else adult to talk to, someone who wasn't still mourning the loss of his mother, or celebrating the return of her husband. Having Shane back in her life, if only briefly, would give her some perspective.

She took the route through the city to the airport, regretting it immediately when she came upon a locked up section of traffic. It was good, though. It helped her calm down a little. She realized Owen was at least partially right about what she had been up to that day, but the idea that she had neglected her responsibilities to her kids made her furious. She wasn't the one who woke up screaming every night, starting every baby in the house off on a crying spree that didn't end for over an hour. She was not the one who flip-flopped between being gentle and sweet to being angry and frustrated. She was not the one who went from being a loving husband to a complete jerk in a matter of seconds.

She was sitting there, thinking about that, wondering if she would apologize when she got home, when she heard a loud engine coming up from a side road. She looked over just in time to see a massive garbage truck plow through traffic, throwing the car in front of her into the air. It spun like a top and crashed into a busy café.

She waited, horrified, as the dust cleared. People were screaming. Smoke was pouring out of the café. The garbage truck had jerked to a stop, and someone bailed out of the driver's seat and fled back down the side road. She almost stayed in the car, trying to convince herself that she was not an emergency responder, and that she owed nothing to the people in the café, or the person in that upside-down car, but her logic didn't work. It couldn't work in the face of so much wailing from inside. People were stumbling out, bleeding. The car crunched down every few seconds, and there was an arm sticking out of the window.

Cristina got out and rushed toward them.


	74. Crash

**Crash.**

**February 28, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was smoky inside the store. Cristina tripped over fallen tables and tried to halt the bleeding people who came past her. It was like they couldn't hear her, or they were beyond listening, having gone through a shock that most people never experienced. Everyone she passed was a little banged up, a little shaken, but most of them were fine. She only saw the real injury when she made it to the car, and she saw the man inside with part of a window frame lodged in his neck. He had bled out in seconds. Beneath the car was a living victim, his right leg pinned under the giant metal projectile. He was squirming, screaming, trying to free himself, still so caught up in the horror of being hit by a flying car that he couldn't take a breath without squealing.

He was grasping at the people who passed, but no one seemed to notice him. Cristina, on the other hand, saw him first. She saw him before she saw the others sitting up, disoriented, with fragments of glass in their bodies. He was the worst of them. He was going to die the quickest, if he kept up what he was doing. Cristina went straight into emergency medicine mode.

She hit her knees by his side, stilling the arms that reached out for her. He already looked relieved, just to have someone looking at him, seeing him lying there. He knew he was not invisible, or alone, and that if someone acknowledged him then at least he had some hope of getting help. She had seen that look hundreds of times in her career, maybe thousands. It was something that came over injured people, sick people. It was the desire to be cared for, protected. It was the desire to matter, because suddenly the world didn't make sense to them.

She eased his arms down to his sides, speaking as calmly as she could. "It's okay. Hey, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere. Listen to me. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you."

He rested his head to the side, toward her, and whimpered. He was a teenager, probably still living with his parents. He was wearing a nametag and a uniform for the café, and he still had a little order ticket sticking out of the front pocket of his apron. His lip was trembling as he stared at her, with dust on his face, and tears in his eyes. He must have been in extraordinary pain, but he was quieted by her presence, like a child with their mother in the room.

She read his nametag while she took his pulse. "Marcus, I need you to talk to me. Can you talk?"

He nodded, and then coughed. "Y-yes."

"Okay. Where does it hurt, other than your leg?"

He started trembling. She felt it as a tremor in his muscles at first, but it became more serious. She took her coat off and laid it over him. He spoke with a distinct shaking in his voice. "My back. And my neck. I have a headache."

"Okay. Listen, I want you to keep your head as still as you can. Can you squeeze my fingers?"

He was still strong. She was glad for the fervor in his muscles. It was the youngest ones who had the most resilience – they were pliable enough to get hit with a flying car and remain conscious. She was unsure about his spine, though. She felt along his neck, her fingers sensitive to the slightest abnormality, but she felt nothing out of place. If he had an injury, it was further down, or deeper than she could safely check for. It would be the responsibility of a machine to look into that.

Cristina crawled to the other side of the boy, avoiding a big pane of glass lying nearby. It had edges sharp enough to tear through her jeans. She leaned over her patient, getting a look under the car, and what she saw relieved her. He was not so bad off, after all.

One side of his leg, the other side, must have been shredded by the broken headlight as the car settled on top of him. His other side was clear, untouched except for a little dust on his pants. And the car was not even resting on him, technically. It was suspended in the window like a teeter totter, only it was teetering on him at the moment. If someone pushed it back it would totter into the street, and she could free the boy from his captivity.

She looked around, desperate. People were beginning to come back into the store now, as the dust cleared and it became evident that no more cars would be flying through the front of it. She saw a college kid clutching a little book, a middle-aged Hispanic man watching her eerily from the back door, and several elderly patrons who were trying to make their way out, but who could not find the door. She motioned to the man and the girl, urging them to join her.

"Hey! Hey, can you help me? I need to get this off of him."

The girl popped forward like she was getting picked for a softball team. She mimicked Cristina's position on the opposite side, staring at her, wide-eyed. The book that had been in her hands, now on the floor beside her, was a manual for medical students. It looked well-read. The man came over more slowly, cautiously, and hovered nearby. He looked uncertain.

"He works here?" the man asked.

Cristina braced her hands on the car. "Yeah, I think so." She went behind Marcus, placing her hands on his head and neck to hold it steady. She was looking at the girl. "You're a medical student, right?"

She blinked. "How did you-?"

"I need you to do what I'm doing. It takes a good amount of pressure. His head weighs about ten pounds and it's going to try to move. I need you to hold it just like this and keep it steady, so his spine stays the way it is right now."

The man put his hands on the car, looking at Cristina. "Are you a doctor?"

She tried to push the car, groaning. "I'm a surgeon. Come on. He'll bleed out before the ambulance gets here. I have to put a tourniquet on his leg."

He stood up, looking around them. "Dion! Alf!"

His friends came from the same place he had, near the back of the store, where another door opened into the street. They were both younger, probably half her age, and they looked a little woozy at everyone going on around them. The first man urged them closer, speaking to them in Spanish, and he braced his hands on the car.

"My friend outside got hit by some glass," the older man said, putting his hands on the car with the boys and hauling it up. "Can you help him next?"

Cristina nodded, positioning herself beside the medical student while the men forced the car backward. She grabbed Marcus under both arms and dragged him carefully to freedom, while the girl did as she was instructed and kept his neck steady. When the kid was free, the men dropped the car, and it shifted back to where it had been.

"What do you do now?" the girl asked.

Cristina pulled off Marcus' belt, wrapping it tightly around his leg. She braced one end against the broken leg of a chair and wrapped it, using the chair as a corkscrew to get the belt to tighten. Marcus groaned, but she went on until it was tight enough to help stifle the flow of the femoral artery. Marcus started squirming and the girl held him down, watching Cristina work with wide eyes. For a student, she was being remarkably helpful.

"Marcus, hey, look at me," Cristina ordered, waiting until his eyes tipped toward her to speak again. "I just put a tourniquet on your leg to help stop the bleeding. In order for that to work, I need you to stop moving. I know it hurts, it burns like hell, but if you stay still the burn will fade away. Every time you move you lose a little bit more blood."

He whimpered again, biting his lip. "Is my leg gone?"

She shook her head, wishing he wasn't so young. It was hard to work with scared kids, hard to hurt them, even if it would help them in the long run. "No. Your leg is fine. You just have some deep cuts that need to be fixed up, and I can't do that here."

Cristina looked up, finding the medical student gazing at her. She looked away when she was discovered, but she still glanced up, painfully curious.

"_What_?" Cristina asked at last.

"What if he gets a clot?" she asked.

"When they suture a wound like this, they hang a blood bag and give him blood thinners to reduce the chance of a clot moving up from the site. But right now, without anything to suture, clots are our friend. Clots are stopping his femoral artery from dumping his entire blood supply out."

"What about my friend?"

Cristina looked up, finding the man still hovering nearby. His younger companions were gone. She wished he didn't look so desperate. She snapped at the medical student, getting her attention again. "Watch him. If he tries to get up, whack him with something. If anything happens, come get me. Tell the paramedics to put a brace on his neck."

She stumbled to her feet, realizing that she was a little woozy. She had not done this much since having her twins, and though it felt great to get back into medicine, this was not how she wanted it to happen. But it was the nature of her life, the nature of her world, to get involved in this kind of thing. She was surprised the driver of the vehicle was not a long lost lover, and that the victim wasn't someone she knew. It should have been a lot more tragic, if she was involved. At least she knew the boy would live to see another day, and that girl would get practice in the field.

She followed the man to the back door, which led onto the next street over. She found the two boys he had called in earlier sitting on the curb, with another young man lying on the floor of an unmarked white van. He looked gravely injured.

"What the hell…?" Cristina remarked as she approached. The boys made way for her, looking sadly into the street. Her new patient was bleeding profusely from his abdomen. His shirt was dark with blood. He looked pale, despite being brown-skinned like his father, and his eyes were open, but dull and lifeless. He looked at her briefly, and then looked away and moaned.

"He got hit by something," the man said, coming up behind her. He leaned on the door of the van. "I brought him out here because I was afraid something else might happen inside."

Cristina crawled into the van, lifting his shirt up delicately. His whole belly was swollen and bruised, and it radiated around one central point. He had a hole in him. Cristina responded blankly to the older man, "What? Like another car flipping through the window?" She examined the wound, wondering what in that café could have flown through him like this.

She heard sirens in the background as the emergency response finally made it to the café. She was fixated on this wound, though. Her hand hovered over it, tracing the shape, the pattern of bruises, the striations in his veins, which showed through the skin.

It came to her too late.

She looked up at the older man, at the boys, and saw them staring at the back door to the café, as if the sirens had startled them. When the older man saw her staring, he heaved one of those sad, inevitable sighs, and braced his hand on the door again. "I'm sorry."

She glanced back at the boy, who could not have been older than sixteen, and shook her head. "He was shot. This is a gunshot wound."

"I need you to fix him," the older man said.

Cristina felt a prickle in her neck. She saw a bulge on the man's hip, at his waistline. His hand edged toward it. For the first time she noticed the tattoos on his neck, familiar markings from the news broadcasts about the shootings. His friends looked nervous, sort of closing in on the doors, forming a barrier so that she could not think of running.

"I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon," Cristina reasoned, but her mind was coming up blank. She hated guns. Her last experience with this sort of violence had been the worst of her life, and now she was facing it again, under similar circumstances. "I don't do abdominal injuries."

"You will," the man responded simply, lifting his shirt a little to show the black gleam of a gun in his pants. He stared her down, his face sporting a serious expression. "If he dies, you die."

He slammed one of the doors shut, and the boys slammed the other one. Cristina was plunged into darkness. The van started. She grabbed the door handles and started tugging at them, desperate, but they wouldn't budge. The force of the van accelerating threw her off her feet. She landed hard against the back door, where she could see a little crack of light, where she could see the road flashing beneath them, but she could not escape.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, and she started screaming.


	75. Crash, Part II

**Crash, Part II.**

**February 28, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

She sat stubbornly at the back of the van, her legs crossed, glaring out at the harsh sunlight. Her companion, the one who mostly cried on the way here, had already been dragged into the nearby building, and now it was just Cristina and her captor, facing off. She could see the terrain behind him, the massive expanse of fields followed up by some forests way off in the distance. She could see mountains, and birds flying overhead, and the sun was preparing to set. While she had imagined her imprisonment lasting days, it must have only been a few hours. She was way outside the city, with only a few empty, overgrown storage containers to indicate anything about her location. She was not getting out of the van, no matter how much the man standing at the back tried to persuade her. Fortunately, his little surgeon-trap made collecting his prey difficult.

He stood there with his arms crossed, squinting at her. His gun was showing, but only because he had hastily used it to unstick the door from the hinges. He was much less intimidating now, more upset than anything. He reminded her of a frustrated grandfather who wanted to gently guide his charges in the right direction, but who was thwarted at every turn.

"Please come out," he repeated.

She just watching him, breathing slowly, pretending to be calm despite how nervous the gun made her. She was starting to lose the sense of danger that came with being kidnapped. It was getting boring, sitting out there in a cold vehicle, having a staring contest with this guy.

He sighed, glancing at the house. "I have food inside. It's warm."

Cristina shrugged. "I had food at home. I had heater at home. I have a husband at home who's a soldier, and when he finds you-"

"Yes, yes, you mentioned that," the man responded. He looked over his shoulder again, crossing his arms over his chest. He held himself, a growing fear in his eyes. "You have to help my son. He could die any minute. What kind of doctor are you?"

She stared him down. This was the first time he had mentioned his relation to the boy she had been trapped in the back with. She had checked his vitals during the ride, and though they were not good, she imagined he would survive a few more hours on his own. It only got worse the longer he went untreated. She was spiteful though, because she had fallen for this little ruse. She was supposed to be at the airport right now, picking up Shane and reminiscing. He was supposed to make her feel better about things. He was supposed to light up her life. But instead she was here, in a deserted stretch of wilderness, way outside the city. She was here, with a gunman standing nearby trying to convince her to get out of the van he had used to kidnap her.

Her voice was cold. "You're right. He will die. Every second brings him closer. Every second more blood pours into his abdomen, and less oxygen circulates to his brain. So take him to a hospital, and leave me alone."

"I can't take him to a hospital."

"Because the police get called whenever someone is shot, and you're probably a criminal."

He sat on the back of the van, making it sway a little. "He has a warrant out for his arrest. He beat up some other kid, took his shoes. If the police get him, he goes to jail."

"So? At least he'll be alive."

"You can save him," the man insisted.

She sighed. She was tired of him saying that. "I told you already – I'm a _cardiothoracic_ surgeon. I work on the heart and the vasculature. His wound is in his abdomen, where a general surgeon or a trauma surgeon would fish it out."

"You must know how to deal with the other body parts, to be a doctor."

He was right about that. She knew how to fix the boy, and she had a very dim desire to help him despite the situation, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the safety of the back of the van. At least she had some sort of shelter here. If he wanted to come get her, he could, but she could fight him off much more easily in a cramped space than in the open. She was smaller than him, but she had her hand on a dense metal pipe, and she would fracture his skull if he came any closer.

It was a dilemma, but the odds were in her favor. He could shoot her, but he would have to go find another doctor for his kid. He could try to come get her, but he would need a neurosurgeon once she got done with him. Or he could stand there all day and stare at her, until the kid inside bled to death, and his entire mission became meaningless.

"Please," he said, turning sideways in the back of the van. He put his leg up across it, leaning his head back on the doorframe. His eyes were glassy. "Donnie is all I have."

She winced at his tone. He sounded sincere. He was the opposite of threatening. He just looked sad, and that made it hard to continue to deny him. Aside from the jostling ride over here, he had not harmed her. He had kept his gun to himself, never raised his voice. He only pleaded with her, quietly, respectfully, and tried to convince her to help him. He wanted help. He needed it.

She took a chance on his words, hoping she could read people better now than she had earlier, when she had fallen into his little trap. She dropped the pipe, making him look up, and started crawling toward the other end of the van. He held his hand out to help her, but she jumped out on her own. She veered away from him immediately, not planning to run, but still cautious of the object wedged beneath his belt. She got another look around, dismayed by the barren place they had brought her. She saw no other signs of civilization. Only mountains, and forests, and plains, and the dirt road that had carried them there.

"Just tell me what you need to help Donnie," the man said. "I can send the boys to get it. Whatever you need." He motioned to a squat house, which was half-hidden behind the storage containers.

She started on a path to the house, aware that he was following her closely, eagerly. When she got to the door it was already opening for her, and she found a dimly lit living room just beyond it. The younger men she had seen earlier were sitting on the couch, looking anxious, and a few other men mulled about. She recognized the tattoos on them, just like the one on the older man's neck, and she got a chill. She was in a gang hideout. It was just getting better and better.

"Donnie is back here," the older man said, opening the only other door than the one leading to the bathroom. It was a small bedroom, and the gunshot victim lay on a blanket-less mattress in the center. The whole house looked like a drug den, but this room was the worst.

She went over to the kid, still keeping an eye on the older man, and crouched beside him. The wood creaked under her feet. She pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist, feeling for his pulse. It was weak, but steady. She looked up, into the eyes of his worried father, and then she looked around the grimy room she was supposed to work in.

"I promised his mother I wouldn't let him go to prison," the older man said while she assessed his son. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself. "She died. I kept that promise."

Cristina did her best to ignore his sentimental story. "I need a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope; a suture kit; clean bandages and gauze pads; blood to transfuse – that can probably come from you; linen pads; towels; clamps; a scalpel, doesn't matter what size; a thermometer; some kind of metal basin, to put warm water in…"

He leaned in, frowning. He had acquired a pen, and he was writing her list on a grungy sheet of paper. "Anything else?"

"Gloves; antiseptics; amoxicillin; rubber blood tubes; donation needles. And scissors."

She sat down beside the kid, glad when he retrieved a pair of scissors for her. She began cutting off the shirt, and then his pants, requesting a sheet as she went. His father brought her a throw blanket and she used it to cover his lower half.

"Why did you have to take his pants?" the man wondered.

"Too tight. Too obstructive." She set the scissors aside, gently prodding at his stomach. He was full of blood, but it was in all the wrong places. "I need those supplies," she said to his father, glancing up. "As soon as possible."

She was forced to wait while the father passed the list on to one of the other men, and they departed in search of what she asked for. She sat beside the boy, her fingers resting on his wrist to keep a count on his pulse. She had no watch to count by, but she knew what a healthy heart sounded like, so the rhythm is what she measured. His was steady, even if it was a little sluggish. His heart was working with less blood than it was accustomed to.

She was joined by his father, who brought in a little chair and parked himself on the other side of the kid. He stared down at him, his fingers interlaced, and said nothing.

Cristina watched him, unable to understand his motivation. If one of her kids had been shot, she would do everything in her power to save them, even if it meant they would spend a little time in juvie. She would not let it get this bad, and she wouldn't kidnap someone to try and make it better.

"This morning, Alec shot up a bar we like," the man said after almost an hour of sitting there, completely silent. He scratched his head, letting his hand linger on the back of his neck. "Donnie got hit, dropped like a rock. So this afternoon, we took a city truck, and whacked that smug son of a bitch's car so hard he went flying." He glanced at her, exhaling loudly. "I was gonna grab a paramedic, you know, once the ambulance got there."

"Your priorities need some work."

He almost smiled. He looked down at the kid, reaching over to tuck the blanket up against his thigh. "Two birds, one stone."

"Except one of those birds was an innocent store employee, just a kid, probably still in high school, who could lose pieces of his leg."

He looked away sharply. "We have to balance it, you know. It's not just about Donnie, or that kid. It's about what they did to us, as a family. You can't just let that go."

She turned and sat against the wall. Her back ached from the ride over here. "You should take him to the hospital." She spoke quietly, but her voice had strength to it. She felt weak, but her spirit could not be shut down.

He looked up, frowning. "With this, again?"

"Hey, let me go and I'll shut up." She waited, watching the serious look in his eyes grow denser, deeper. "That's what I thought. So I'll keep saying it. You should take him to the hospital. Because your kid is dying."

He sat a little stiffer, but he gave no other indication that he had heard what she said. It was a stark look into his world, to know that the news that his son was going to die did nothing to shake him. He must have grown so accustomed to the idea, seeing the kid get into trouble over the years, knowing what kind of influence he was. He must have known how it would end, and he had spent all of his time prepping for it. He would not be shaken now. But it was strange, because she was here, and this man had pleaded with her to save this kid. This man, the same one who was steely and unemotional now, had begged her to save him. He must have cared. He must have wanted to go against fate, but he was not willing to go _that_ far. He was not willing to take his son to the hospital, where the police would be called, and the kid would go down for his crimes. It was a strange paradox – the place where this man was trapped. And he was trapped. She could see it. It was burning him.

"Do you care?" Cristina asked, losing, briefly the desire to be as quiet as possible. She was starting to get disenchanted with that gun on his hip.

He scowled. "Shut your mouth."

"I don't think I will," Cristina went on, motioning to the kid on the mattress in front of her. "Because your son is my patient, and if you don't take him to the hospital in the next few hours, he'll die. He has a hole in his abdomen. He has microorganisms swimming around in his bloodstream – the bloodstream that carries oxygen to his _heart_, to his _brain_. Every second you sit there and take no action, he gets closer to that. He gets closer to having his brain scrambled before he makes it to sixteen."

Suddenly the father had a fire in his eyes. He placed his hand on his gun. "You have no right to question me. You have no idea what's happening here."

"Oh, I have every right." Cristina leaned forward, pulling the cover up from the wound. "I want you to look at this. You _kidnapped_ me so I could fix _this_. Even if I did everything I could, right here and right now, it wouldn't be enough. I have every right to question you and your motives because as far as I can tell, you have the power to save his life, and you're just _sitting there_."

He stood up, the force of the movement tossing his chair backward into the wall. Cristina jumped, but she held her ground. She still had the boy between them. He seemed to want to charge her, like an enraged bull, but he stayed where he was.

"I told you why I can't take him."

"So he'll go to jail!" Cristina threw her hands up, beyond frustrated with this man. She set the cover back down, looking at the kid's face while she spoke. "He's like fifteen. He'll probably get put in juvie! But he'll be alive!"

"I promised his mother-"

"Oh boo-hoo," Cristina snapped. "Let me guess. She died in some horrible gang shootout. Oh, I feel so sad for you. 'My wife died, I have to keep all the promises I made to her.' Guess what. Juvie is probably better for him. Maybe he won't get shot again. Maybe he'll learn something and turn his life around. Maybe, with any luck, he'll decide that he wants to be _nothing like you_ and your friends out there! And if he does, good for him!"

Her captor's scowl deepened. He took a step toward her. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

"Because I have nothing to work with. I can't carve it out with my bare hands." Cristina let her angry tone soften. She sunk back onto the floor, and the man did the same. Suddenly the energy between them was gone. "I'm not telling you to take him to the hospital because I think he should go to jail. I don't think that. I don't want that. I'm a doctor – I want him to live. I want to save him." She sighed. "If you're really against it… then put a rush on those supplies. If I can get the bullet out and get him patched up, he might make it through the night."

He looked up suddenly, his eyes lit. "Do you think…?"

"No. But if I leave him like this he'll bleed out anyway. So I have to try." She stood up, stretching until her arms shook. "Now, while we wait, where's that food you promised?"

He was already dialing into his phone. He motioned toward the door.

She went into the living room, glad to find a hot pizza on the couch. It only had a few pieces missing. Cristina dove in, not even bothering to ask what was in it. She didn't care. She was starving, and tired, and still a little hungover. She needed the energy.

"If you save him… or if he dies… I want you to know that I'll let you go anyway. I don't want to hurt you. I just wanted to get him some help."

She turned to watch the man now. He spoke rapid Spanish into his phone, and then hung up. He was watching her with big pleading eyes, asking for her acceptance of his words. She was unsure of his apparent kindness because of the tattoo on his neck, and the gun in his pants, but there was an unmistakable sincerity in his eyes. Even if he only meant a little bit of what he said, she could relax a little. She could focus on the dying kid in the other room, and not on the fact that she had not signed up to be here.

"I need you to add morphine to that list of supplies," she said between bites. It was just starting to occur to her that her patient was not in a hospital. "You don't want him to be awake for this."


	76. Crash, Part III

**Crash, Part III.**

**February 28, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

"You could tell me this, just this one thing. Why won't you take the phone, and call your loved ones, tell them you're safe? You act like you don't even want to go home."

"Less drama here. And, you know, kidnapping victim."

"I've never met someone as… unafraid as you."

"You're not exactly threatening." Cristina broke her thoughtful slump against the wall to motion to the door. "I mean, your mom has been making tortillas in there for two hours. She's humming. This is the least threatening situation I've been in all week."

He laughed a little, sighing at the ceiling. "We don't make our money from _terror_."

She was silent, watching a speck of dust float around near the lamp. Her patient was stable, but his condition would begin to decline the moment she started fiddling with that bullet. For now, she could think, and let herself get used to the environment.

"We make our money other ways," the man went on.

"I don't remember asking how you make your money."

"I was born in Cuba," he said, despite having no invitation to divulge his life story. "I came here like everybody else, dreaming of freedom. Do you know what they gave me? Poverty. Crime. Racism. Every path ended in the potential to lose everything."

"Are you gonna start crying? Because I hate that."

"We started selling drugs to cover the cost of living. It just evolved from there. I became part of this family, a big part of it, and it gives me the freedom to sit here with you. It gives me the power to ask others to get those supplies for me. It gives me the guarantee that no matter how many people saw me take you, I would never be convicted."

She stared at him, waiting for whatever end would come of his escalating, grim words. His tone had reached sinister heights. It gave her a tremor of fear.

"But I have a code that I live by," he said, reverting to his original, kind, innocuous voice. "I would not hurt you – not the way you are hurt right now. Every time I mention your family, you look angry, and sad. And you fear that more than you fear me. So I'm curious."

"Long lead up," Cristina acknowledged. "Persistent."

"I can be," he responded softly. "So what at home makes you want to stay here?"

"I don't _want_ to stay here," she cut in. "It's just… less complicated here. I have you, and your crazy happy mother, and this kid, and this crappy house, and I know exactly what I'm supposed to do." She motioned to the boy on the bed. "I'm supposed to fix him. It's simple. I know how to do that. I've been doing that for a long time."

"And home is not simple?"

"Home is… getting ridiculous." She scooted closer to her patient, just to have something to do with her hands. She placed her fingers gently on his wrist. "And we're not talking about it."

"Why not?"

She glanced up, almost amused by his question. He seemed so perplexed by it. She started ticking off on her fingers. "Let me just number the reasons for you. One, you kidnapped me. Two, you have a gun. Three, we are not friends. Four, shut up."

He ran his hands over his hair, trying to straighten a few pieces that had managed to escape the thick layer of grease atop his head. He then pulled his gun from his hip, looked at it, and walked to the door. He tossed it out, and judging by the lack of a loud crash, he aimed for the couch. He came back to his seat and spread his hands. "No more gun."

She had to admit it was a little easier to sit there without a gun in the room. She had never really gotten over her dislike of them. "Fine. You still have one, three, and four to deal with."

He smiled a little. "You remind me of my wife."

"Okay, adding a number five. Shut up, _again_."

"I'm serious. She was a firecracker. She took nothing from nobody, and when things went wrong she just kept powering through it." He turned his eyes down to his son. "When Donnie was four we had another baby, Arial. She was her mother's world. She was taken from us when she was six… raped, killed, left to rot in the street. Now I've lost everyone else," he choked a little on that, but managed to bring himself back from it, "Everyone else, but Donnie. And I'm not letting go. I hope you can understand why… at least partially… why I brought you here."

She took a slow breath, easing her anger, and looked at the kid, as well. He was handsome, and if his skin had not been so pale from lack of blood, she imagined he would look remarkably like his father. If he did not look so pained in his sleep, he would look like the peaceful man sitting across from her. If he survived, he would look like him again.

"You're hard to hate," Cristina remarked.

He shrugged. "I try to be a good man."

"In a gang. You try to be a good man _in a gang_."

"I do what I have to, to survive. I didn't want this for Donnie."

"And yet, somehow he got shot."

"He wasn't supposed to be at the bar," the man countered, raising his voice a little. "He was supposed to be at home, doing his schoolwork, but he has a hard head. _Just_ like his mother."

She was quiet, watching his face as the rage passed through him. He looked longingly down at the boy, and the regret in him made her believe his story. His son had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and he had not acted quickly enough to stop this tragedy from happening. Now Donnie had a hole in his body, and his dad had a hole in his heart.

"So they shot up our bar. And we plowed one of their leaders through a store window. And some other kid got hit." He looked up, making sure she was paying attention. "I regret that."

She released the kid's wrist, sitting back against the wall again. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because, I want to eliminate all of your numbers, so we can talk. Just sitting here in silence is giving me too much time to think."

"We can't be friends," she said. He voice was empty. "Because you hurt people, and I've spent my whole life saving people." She found herself a little empathetic when his hesitant smile shifted into a frown. "But we can… talk. I hate silence, too."

He nodded, folding his hands up under his chin. "So, tell me about this family member of yours that is so complicated."

"My husband," she said. "Well, technically he's not my husband. We never got the papers signed again. He's my ex-husband, and my current fiancé. He's the reason I look like a water balloon with a hole in it."

"Is the marriage the complicated part?"

"No. The man is." She waited, hoping she would feel guilty for talking about Owen to a total stranger, but she felt nothing but the time passing. It was nice and quiet in her head. "He has some… problems. But he doesn't want to get help. And he freaks out when I mention… help."

"He might be worried about you."

"So let him worry!" She shrugged. "Last time I saw him he accused me of being a bad mother, and then tried to whip up a soppy apology when he realized I wasn't going to take his crap anymore."

"He must be something special, for a woman as strong as you to tolerate that kind of behavior."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to shrink me?"

"No." He blinked, glancing around himself innocently. "We're just talking."

"Right."

"Will you at least tell me your name now?"

"Cristina Yang."

"Jose Warez. I go by my last name. You can't throw a rock in Seattle without hitting another Jose."

"That's why I never visit Asia. Too many Yangs."

He chuckled. "Can we be friends now? Or at least not enemies?"

"I have a condition." She placed her hand on Donnie's forehead, pretending to gauge his temperature to make herself look better for her request. "When this is over, you drop me off at the hospital. If you leave me in the middle of the city I will be so pissed."

"Deal. Anything else? You don't want to call your family now?"

She thought about Owen, and what they had said to each other before she had been taken. It would have been nice of her to call him, to tell him that she was alright, but she was still too irritated at him. "No, but I have a friend who needs to know I'm okay. If that's alright."

He pulled out his cellphone. "It has a signal blocker. Untraceable."

"Nifty." She started dialing.

It was picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Mer. Hey, it's me."

Meredith sighed heavily, relieved, and a chair squished in the background. "Cristina. We thought you were… The police are out looking for you! Owen is falling to pieces! Where are you? I'll come get you. No questions asked."

"You can't. Not yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I sort of…" she glanced at Warez, shrugging. "I got kidnapped, a little bit." Her friend tried to speak, but she cut her off. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm fine."

"But-"

"Just please tell Owen I'm fine, and that I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Cristina… swear to me that you'll be okay."

"I won't let anything happen. Just tell everyone that I'm fine. When they let me go, I'll explain everything."

Meredith whimpered on the other end of the line. It broke Cristina's heart to hear it. She hated to be the reason for it. She shot a glare at Warez as she hung up the phone. She didn't have the strength to keep the conversation going.

"I'm sorry," Warez murmured. He caught the phone when she tossed it over to him. "I know it must be hard. But it will be over soon."

"Use contractions," she muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just… just be quiet until they get here. I just need to do the surgery, so I can go home."

"I thought you didn't want to-"

"Don't start with me."

He put one hand up, half-smiling. He started chuckling, and it produced a strange sheen of joy on his face. She could not help scowling at him, and then letting it fall into a glare, and then a confused frown. He was definitely losing his mind.

He took a few hasty breaths, still giggling. "Have you thought of how strange our situation is?"

"Story of my life," Cristina responded. She resisted the humor, settling in the darker side of things. She let her head rest against the wall, and listened to his laughter until the front door finally opened. Her supplies had arrived. It was time to get this over with.


	77. Crash, Part IV

**Crash, Part IV.**

**February 28, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was hard to stay focused with so much running through his mind. He kept his eyes on the scenery that flashed by, doing his best to ignore his negative thoughts. She was probably fine. She must have forgotten about him, or fell asleep, or she got distracted by a bakery. It was all possible with her. She had a hard time organizing priorities that had nothing to do with surgery. He could accept any of those things, all of those things, if only it kept him from thinking of the worst possible answer. He put it off as silly, to think something bad could have happened to her. She had been through enough to stave off the bad things for a while.

But that hope, however fleeting on the ride to her house, vanished when he arrived. He paid his taxi driver and stood in the driveway, bobbing taillights illuminating the back porch of her house. Her new house. Meredith and Owen were standing there, having come out when they saw the headlights. He saw everything he needed to know in their faces.

He went up the steps, lingering by them. Owen looked too serious to approach. Shane looked the other way, instead, meeting the eyes of a surgeon he had not seen in a while. She looked tired. He kept his voice low to match the quiet nighttime air. "Where is Cristina?"

Owen stirred. He crossed his arms. His eyes were somewhere between enraged and resolved. He seemed to want to say something for a moment, but he just shook his head and went back inside. Meredith watched him, a shadow on her face. It looked like she had been fighting with Owen, because when the door slammed behind him, she seemed relieved.

"She was kidnapped," Meredith said. Her face went blank for a moment from the effort of suppressing how she felt about that statement.

He felt a wave of revulsion, and disbelief. "That's not true."

Meredith turned and rested her back against the railing, staring briefly at the stars, and then dropping her eyes to the deck. "It is. She called me a little while ago and told me… she was she was okay. She said she would be back soon."

"Did you call the police?"

"We talked to Detective Swartz, the one who helped bring Derek home," she responded, still gazing at the wood beneath her feet. She seemed fixated on it, and her voice was dreamy. "He said he would tell us if he found anything but… He hasn't called."

He glanced at the house, at the lights on in all the rooms, and then at the long, lonely driveway that led back to the road. He knew a few things, solidly, despite his insides feeling like mush. Cristina was not here, so he should be elsewhere. She was not here, so he had to find her. The people who were looking for her were accessible, and if they had new information Meredith would not be their first call, no matter what they told her. He wished he had told his taxi to wait.

"We should go down to the police station and see if they have anything new," Shane said, drawing her eyes up to him. He had avoided her gaze as an intern and as a resident, because it was usually as cold as ice when it fell upon him, but it was warm now. Warm and sad.

She took a deep, filling breath and then sighed. For a moment the air around her was full of mist. It made him realize how cold it was out. He had almost failed to notice his shivering.

"Owen is… really wound up," she began, looking again at the house. She had the beginnings of a scowl on her face again, but it faded when she looked away. "We should go, but he needs to be here with his kids. Cristina would want that. And if he comes, he might do something stupid, and make it worse. So he should stay here."

Shane frowned. "Okay?"

She waved her hand at him. "I wasn't talk to you, I was talking to me." She went toward the door, motioning toward the yard. "Wait for me by the van."

Shane did as he was told, and paced around the van. He heard yelling from inside the house, but he was far more focused on his thoughts. He had been excited to meet her kids earlier, to see Collin again, to put his arms around his best friend. Now he just wanted to find her. He almost didn't believe the situation, having spoken to her on the phone mere hours ago. He almost expected to be able to go inside and find her sleeping on the couch, a guilty look on her face for having forgotten to pick him up. But he let that hope die as Meredith came back out, a darker look on her face. She looked angry now. Her eyes were watering.

She drove like she was trying to hit someone. Her jaw was set and her eyes were locked forward. She cut the radio off, huffed a few times, and drew her sleeve over her face, frustrated.

"What did he say?" Shane wondered, keeping his voice low.

She gave a little half-laugh. "Nothing worth repeating."

He found himself tapping his foot, picking at his nails, straightening the fabric on his jeans, until the city lights gave way to a big, fancy, glass-fronted building. Meredith parked in the back, even though most of the parking spots were empty this time of night. When the van rolled to a stop, and she jammed it into park, she braced her hands on the steering wheel. She stared ahead for a short time, sort of nodding to herself, as if she was going through the same possibilities that he was. She was bracing herself for the type of news no one wanted to hear.

They walked in together. She went straight for the elevator and he stopped at the front desk to ask where this detective was. By the time he joined her the doors were opening, and Meredith was pushing her way through a crowd of officers. She was a fierce woman.

"He should be on the third floor, with the homicide unit," Shane told her.

She looked over at him, reacting to the name of the unit, and then she mashed the button for the third floor. She folded her arms up and bounced around, staring at the number lit above them. Shane watched it, too, and wondered if going to this unit was a horrible piece of foreshadowing. He could not imagine a world where his mentor was dead. He hated everything about that idea.

Meredith stormed off of the elevator, and all he could do was follow. She walked into the unit like she owned the place, looking around at the gun-toting officers and making her case to them. "I need to talk to Detective Swartz. Is he here? Where is he?"

"He's in the conference room. You're welcome to wait here for him." One of the officers approached, holding his hands up to cut them off.

She looked around, and then skirted by the officer, going straight for the first conference room on the left side of the unit. Shane followed, shrugging at the officer as he passed. "Sorry. I'm with her. She really needs to talk to him."

Meredith threw the door open and Shane stepped up behind her, peering inside. He saw a tall, lean black man sitting across the table from a slender, mousy girl, who jumped at their entrance. She had a drawing in her hands depicting a man, so perfectly rendered that it looked like a photo. Shane returned his eyes to the man, who he assumed was the detective they were looking for.

"Mrs. Grey?" Swartz said, standing to greet them. "I told you I would call. I was just about to pick up the phone." He leaned into the door, waving off the officer hovering behind the two invaders. "It's okay. Come in. Where's Owen?"

"At home with his kids," Meredith responded. She was watching the girl with the picture. "I thought you were looking for Cristina."

Swartz nodded. "Sit down."

Meredith glared at him. "I don't want to sit down. I want to know why you're not out there trying to _find_ her. She could be in danger! She could be hurt somewhere! You told me not to go looking for her, that you would handle this."

"I am handling this," Swartz responded, keeping his cool despite the small, angry woman yelling at him. He pulled a chair out for her. "Just sit down and I'll tell you where we are."

She huffed, taking a different chair to spite him.

He turned his eyes to Shane now, holding out a hand. "Am I to assume you were the friend coming in from Sweden?"

"Switzerland, and yes," Shane said. He took a seat near Meredith, leaning heavily on the table. He was really starting to feel his twelve-hour flight, and the sleepless night he'd had before it. "Cristina is my mentor. She taught me everything I know."

Swartz considered him, nodding, and then motioned to the girl beside him. "This is Grace Shaw. Grace is a medical student who happened upon the same crash as Cristina Yang. She says she saw Cristina at the scene and helped her pull a café employee from underneath a car. She says Dr. Yang was approached by an older Hispanic man, the one in her drawing, and asked to help with another injured person outside. Dr. Yang went with him, but never came back."

All eyes were on the girl now, and Shane could not help but fixate on her drawing. It was immaculate, and eerie. The scowling man in that picture could have been the one to take Cristina. He had put his hands on her, harmed her, scared her, and kept her from home. It was only a flimsy piece of paper, but Shane hated it. He hated looking at it.

"I went outside, where they went, and there was no one out there," Grace said, looking at the detective for affirmation. "So I drew this. I wasn't sure if I should… But when I brought it in he said a woman like the one I saw was missing." She pulled another sheet of paper from her purse, spreading it on the table. It was a perfect portrait of Cristina, looking like a real surgeon. Her eyes were intense and she seemed to be saying something, staring right into the sky.

Meredith gasped a little at the second picture, covering her mouth with her hand. "Did she look… I mean, did she say…?"

"We helped the man under the car, and then she went out with the other guy to help his friend. I'm sorry. I should have come in sooner."

"Yeah, you should have," Meredith responded coldly.

"Hey," Shane intervened, not wishing to see her let her fury out on this poor woman. "At least she came. And we have a picture of the guy, thanks to her."

Swartz slid the picture toward himself, his expression becoming a little more serious. "Now for the upsetting part. I recognize this man. He's been pinned on our bulletin board for years." He turned it toward them, sliding the picture to the center of the table. "You're looking at Jose Warez. He fled Cuba twelve years ago. We want him for multiple murders, in a few different states."

Shane stared at the detective instead of the drawing, his concern for his friend growing with every additional word. He could see the same thing in Meredith.

"Warez is the leader of a gang we call the Runners. We believe that his group was responsible for the crash that led Dr. Yang to the scene in the first place. Yesterday a rundown bar – that we now know was a hangout of theirs – was shot up. We think the car was retaliation. Now… since Warez is involved, I'm handing this case over to the gang unit, and they'll probably kick it up to the FBI."

Meredith was already shaking her head. "Cristina could be… what does he want with her? Why would he…? Oh, God, she could be…"

"Listen," Warez cut in, pulling the picture back. "I'm telling you all of this because Warez is a big deal. When the FBI gets a hold of this – probably within the next hour – they will not hesitate to scour this city for your friend. They want to bring this guy down, and they have ten times the resources we do. They have the capacity to get your friend back unharmed."

"Do you think she's alive?" Meredith asked. "I mean, from what you know about him, do you think he would keep her alive?"

Shane was thinking the same thing, but he couldn't get his mouth to move.

"He asked if she was a doctor," Grace said. "M-Maybe he wanted help for someone who got shot yesterday. Maybe he just wanted her to treat them."

Swartz nodded. "Could be. I can't think of any other reason to put himself out there like that." He looked at Meredith. "Is there any other connection you can think of? Does Dr. Yang have any family in Cuba? Has she ever done drugs? Is there any way she could have met Warez before?"

"No. No way." Meredith sat up a little straighter. "I have to call Owen." She sniffled, pulling out her phone. She ended up setting it on the table, staring at it. "What am I going to tell him?"

"I'll call him," Swartz offered. "You should try to take it easy. Both of you look like hell."

"This _is_ hell," Meredith said. She sunk into her chair, staring at the floor. She shut her eyes, and for a moment she seemed to be trying to sleep, but Shane realized she was murmuring to herself. She was praying. He looked away, letting that moment be private.

It was cold in the station. He got stuck on that thought as he sat there. Swartz was on the phone with Owen in the other room – he could hear the men raising their voices at each other – and Meredith was still staring at the floor. Every now and then she picked up her phone, thought about calling someone, and then set it back down. Grace Shaw, despite having finished giving her statement, was still sitting across from them. She was staring at the drawing she had done of Cristina, twisting her lips, frowning.

He cleared his throat. "You're really talented."

She drew her legs up into her chair, smiling a little. "I have an eidetic memory. But she was hard to forget. I'm sure you know that."

"I do." He leaned over, pulling the picture toward him. He was amazed at the intensity in her expression. She must have been in the middle of doling out orders. She had given him that expression a thousand times. "How long until you graduate?"

"Another year, after this semester ends in the summer." She glanced at Meredith, but quickly withdrew her eyes, cautious of the other woman. "Did… Dr. Yang really work at Grey-Sloan?"

Meredith looked up, narrowing her eyes. "Why do you care?"

"I wanted to… well when I got out of medical school I was going to… apply for the surgical internship. It's the best in Seattle."

"I know that," Meredith replied, her voice still cold.

Shane wished she wasn't being so abrasive, but he didn't blame her. She was dealing with the information they had been given, and the long silence they had been left with. Cristina would have been the same way, if the situation were reversed.

Finally, the door opened, and Swartz stepped in. He was just getting off the phone. His face was grim. "I just got some news from narcotics. We got a tip about potential retribution against the Runners." He looked back suddenly. Radios were buzzing in the unit. "It sounds like it might be in progress. You three need to stay here."

Meredith jumped up so fast that her chair flew into the wall. She tried to go out, but Swartz stepped into her path. "What's happening? What kind of tip?" she demanded.

He put his hands up, and when she tried to hit him, he caught her wrist. He guided her back a little bit, expertly navigating her anger. "I need you to calm down. Let me talk."

She pulled away from him, huffing.

"Tips are anonymous. We usually have no idea where they come from. But this one is credible. The FBI is almost here. They're handling this situation."

"But do you know where she is?" Meredith asked.

"I can't tell you that."

She scowled. "You told me everything else."

"When this is over, you can be angry with me. It's fine. I can accept it. But you have to understand that it's out of my hands at this point. The FBI knows how to handle this. You just need to calm down and wait. Just wait for news."

Meredith set her jaw, looking away from him.

Shane released a breath he'd been holding. He felt colder all of the sudden. It was wrong, thinking of her in that type of situation. He knew she hated guns. She must have been so afraid. She must have been so alone. He recalled the sinkhole, when she had called him to say goodbye, and when he had sat beside her in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He hoped for a moment like that, again, where she would come out of it alive. She had to be.

The world was not ready to lose her.

He was not ready to lose her.


	78. And Burn

**And Burn.**

**February 28, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

Cristina stared at the boy lying in front of her. He was nearing a critical point, when his body would begin to betray him in the interest of staying alive for as long as possible. It would shut down his systems, one at a time, starting with the least pertinent for short-term survival. He would begin to feel the burn of thousands of electrical signals trying to jump start his consciousness, to get him to wake up and find safety. She already felt sad for him, because she knew what the outcome of this surgery would be. She knew that, in an hour or so, with or without medical intervention of any kind, he would die. She knew it just from glancing at the cavity she had created. He had not been hit with a regular bullet, but with something that broke apart as it entered his abdomen. His only chance would have been immediate help, the day before, when the fragments had first started to tear through him. By now they had entered his bloodstream, and they were probably eviscerating his vessels with each slow, uneven beat of his heart.

She hated the idea of operating on someone who would only suffer more as a result, but Warez was standing in the doorway, staring at her. When she told him what was going to happen, he drew a gun on her. He was pointing it at her now, appearing furious. He had lost all of the fatherly compassion he had shown earlier. Now she only saw a blizzard in his eyes.

"Stop standing there, and do something," he growled. Behind him, the other men were watching, waiting to see what their patriarch would do to the hostage. She saw his mother leave over his shoulder, and an engine started up outside.

She did her best to avert her eyes from the gun, but a violent memory resurfaced. It made her hands shaky. She took a few deep breaths through her mask, reaching down to retrieve her scalpel. She swallowed, glancing over his frayed innards again, before she finally shook her head. She could not bring herself to do it. It was against everything she had ever learned.

"Do something!" Warez snapped, advancing a few steps. His gun was shaking.

She shook her head again. "His body is too damaged. If I do anything else, it'll just be torture. It's just torture, and I won't do it."

"He's unconscious," Warez growled.

"He's under light sedation, from the morphine. He can still feel what I'm doing. He can hear us, and react to pain. And this… it's beyond repair."

Warez took a few more steps, coming to the other side of the bed. He held the gun out level with her forehead, edging it forward until it touched her skin. She surprised herself by being able to meet his eyes, being able to stare into them as his finger danced on and off of the trigger. He was thinking about killing her, right there, over the open abdomen of his son. Whatever gentle nature she had seen in him before was overshadowed by this wilder side.

"I am not playing with you," Warez said lowly, almost inaudibly. "Fix him, so I can talk to him. I got you what you asked for, now you _fix_ him."

Cristina caught a sudden change in him. He wanted to _talk_ to Donnie, not save him. Why would he say it like that? Suddenly he didn't seem to care that what he wanted would hurt the boy. His warm eyes were frigid now. She was stunned, to have fallen for his act a second time. First he had gotten her into that van, and now he had deceived her into this, into whatever she was doing. Was this boy even his son? Did he have something much worse planned for her?

Warez tipped his head, noticing the change in her expression. He let his arm fall down to his side, his gun now pointed at the ground. "I just want to talk to him. So fix him."

"I thought you wanted him to live."

He locked his jaw, puffing a breath from his nose.

"Is he even your son?" Cristina persisted.

He finally relented, tucking his gun back into his waistband. "Donnie is my nephew. He… chose the wrong path. It's what got him here. I need him to… explain his choice to me."

She was conflicted. He had abandoned all of the emotion in his voice, but he was still insisting that the kid wake up. Did he really care for him, or did he have an ulterior motive? She couldn't tell. It was hard to see beyond the fear his words evoked in her. He was unsettling now, when his presence had been so calming earlier. This extreme change was jarring.

"So patch him up, so I can talk to him," Warez said, pointing his gun briefly at her, and then shrugging. "Or, you know. It ends for you."

She set her scalpel down, moving her fingers along his severed vessels like she was trying to help him. She was only biding time. She kept Warez in her peripheral vision. "Why do you need to talk to him?" She kept her voice neutral, unthreatening, and complacent.

He shook his head, a glisten entering his eyes. "You don't need to know."

"It would be nice." She glanced up to meet his gaze, glad that he had lost his fire. He was sad again, a victim of the world. "It would be nice to know why I'm doing this to him."

"Because he…" Warez ran his hand roughly over his head, like he was trying to rip a memory away, and then he turned to pace to the door. He slammed it shut, blocking out the rest of the house. When he came back to Cristina, he carefully took his place on the opposite side of the bed, and he stared at the child dying in front of them. "He left me… and I want to know why."

Cristina heard his heart breaking, and it was perfectly clear on his face. She preferred this version of him, because even the most painful emotions were evidence of his humanity, and it made him less threatening. Humanity could be reasoned with.

"I carried this boy in my arms to the boats, when bullets were flying around us, after his mother was killed, after his father was put in prison." Warez crouched down beside the head of the bed, placing his hand gently over Donnie's hair. He watched him like he was watching an infant sleep, like Owen watched Collin. "I raised him, loved him… and he betrayed me. He went to join Alec and his _bastards_. This boy is my _son_, and he betrayed me!"

She flinched when he raised his voice, but maintained her pretend surgery. "So you shot him."

He looked up suddenly, seriously. "He was at the bar, but not inside. He was outside, shooting at us, trying to kill his own family. We shot back. He got hit. Alec left him out there to die. He was unconscious…" Warez stroked Donnie's hair, resting his chin on the mattress. "I just want to know… I just need to know why he would do this…"

She had been abducted by this man, and held hostage for several hours. She had been here, caring for this kid, while Warez looked persistently into her life, and tried to convince her that he was a good man. But she had seen the darker side of him come out, and it had been terrifying. She had never been so afraid of anyone, save the gunman who had threatened her at the hospital. Both were motivated by powerful emotions, but one was focused on vengeance, while the other just wanted an explanation. He wanted closure. He wanted to understand what had happened to his nephew, to wrap his head around it. She could tell that he did not accept this death, this inevitable, unstoppable death, no matter how many times she tried to tell him what was going to happen. He was in denial. He thought that talking to Donnie would clear everything up, make the death of his beloved child seem real. She knew it wouldn't. One last talk would leave him wanting another last talk. It would never end, and he would never grasp what was happening here.

She pitied him, because she had been through this once in her life. It was as plain as day now, the parallel between the two of them. She had felt safe around him earlier because they were so similar, and she had been afraid of him, again, because they were so similar. She had reacted the same way when her father had died. She had kicked, screamed, demanded to talk to him, because death was a concept she could not grasp. Warez must have seen a lot of death, lost a lot, but Donnie was like her dad. He was that person that could not be lost. It didn't make sense for him to die.

"If I let him wake up," Cristina said, keeping her voice low, "Donnie will feel a lot of pain. I know it seems different, because it's his insides that are injured, but there are a lot of nerves on our organs to tell us when something is going wrong." She motioned over her abdomen with his hand, holding the gaze of her captor. "If he wakes up, the last thing he'll feel is… agony."

Warez looked away, shielding his face in his shoulder. She heard a sort of half whimper, a draw of breath through a constricted throat, and when he looked back his eyes were watering. Tears poured down his cheeks. He gasped, placing his hand on Donnie's shoulder, and he dropped his head down to the mattress, right beside Donnie's. He spoke in a strangled way now, full of fear and confusion. "I just want to talk to him. I just want to… _hear_ him."

"I know," she said.

He looked up, hastily wiping his tears on his sleeve. "I never listened! Donnie always wanted to talk to me and I said 'not now, buddy' and sent him off! His whole life, I sent him off! No wonder he wanted someone else. No wonder he ran off. I never listened…" He rested his chin on the mattress again, whispering into Donnie's ear. "Just talk to me now. Just say something now and I'll hear you, okay? Just _talk_ to me, please."

She had to look away, to keep her tears from falling on her patient. It was horrible to listen to him choking on his words, begging this kid to wake up one last time when it would be cruel to do it. He had such a deep want for the impossible, something he would never get to touch, something he could never have again, and it was so hard to stand there with him and have that knowledge. She knew how hard it would be for him. She knew that he would never get over this. She knew that he would wake up at night and think of Donnie, that these memories would bring him to tears thirty years later. She knew because she was living in his future.

It was quiet, and Warez was sobbing, and the boy on the bed was dying, but suddenly it was not just the three of them. The door opened. One of the men poked his head in and spoke rapidly in Spanish. She heard the sound of engines outside, and car doors slamming.

Warez leaped to his feet like someone had stabbed him. He looked rapidly from Donnie, to Cristina, to the man in the doorway. He decided something, pulling his gun from his waist, tears blazing in his eyes. He motioned down, his hand flat, lowering himself to demonstrate what he wanted her to do. "Get down, behind the bed. If anyone comes in, you get under it."

She stared at him, thrown by the change in pace. "What? Why?"

"Whatever you hear, you stay in here." He motioned down again. "Do as I say! Maybe Donnie won't live through this, but you will, damn it."

She ducked down behind the bed, and the men left the room. The door slammed behind them. She hit her knees, and then laid down, rolling under the stout bed. She winced at the bloodstains coming through from the top. She listened intently for any sounds, any indication of what was happening outside, but everything had gone quiet. It was eerily silent in the house.

And then it wasn't.

Her heart raced as the sound of gunfire erupted. It was impossibly loud, just like in the OR that day so many years ago, when Owen had hit the floor and a little part of her had died. It was the same sound, only much worse now, because she knew the kind of destruction the weapons could create. It was a sound like thunder, like the sky falling, like the universe crashing down on her and begging her to run. But she was trapped by it. She was afraid of it. He body locked up in response to it. The fear was too intense to overcome.

She shut her eyes as tightly as she could, praying for the first time in her life that something miraculous could happen to deliver her from this horror. She didn't care which deity it was, or what promises she would have to keep to save herself. She just wanted to get out of there. She wanted to feel safe again. She wanted Owen to drag her out from under the bed and carry her back home. Every shot that rang out made surviving this seem less likely. Every time she heard the wood splinter, the glass outside break, her hope slipped further away. Further, until it wasn't there, until the prayer stopped, and the fear stopped, and she just lay silently, staring at the crack in the door, the flashing lights, and waited for the end to come.

Within minutes the gunshots started tapering off. She heard nothing from outside save the occasional groan of a dying person. The engines started up again and horns honked wildly as whoever had attacked escaped this horrible place.

She waited, every muscle tensed, for something else to happen. She expected Warez to come in and tell her that it was over. She expected the police to show up and whisk her to safety. She expected something, anything, but all she got was quiet. It was strangely peaceful in the house.

And then it wasn't.

She was staring at the door, so she noticed the shadows interrupting the light. At first she thought it might be people walking around, coming out of the trauma of a gun battle, but it was too slight to be something so disruptive. It moved like a shadow. It flowed in, like a living thing, and took form in front of her. She smelled it, and saw it, but it took a long while for it to click in her mind.

She was smelling smoke. She was tasting it. She was watching it come into the room, wrap around her. She was listening to its soft roar glowing from the other room.

Smoke, and right behind it, fire licked at the floor.


	79. Heat

**Heat.**

**March 1, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

Darkness fell over the room so suddenly that, briefly, she could imagine she was someplace else. It only lasted for a moment; a moment without fear, without gunfire, without smoke; without the bloodstains and the dying boy above her, without the horrible adrenaline and the trembling in her muscles. She lay there for that moment, imaging herself at home, imaging Owen sliding into bed beside her and wrapping his arms tightly around her. She could almost feel him. But he slipped away, just like the darkness, just like the fleeting calm in her heart. She became painfully aware that she may never make it home, because her eyes were still locked on the door, now ringed in fire. It looked like something out of a nightmare, with orange flames coming through in quick bursts, taunting her, making popping sounds as it ate away at the wooden frame. She knew without a doubt that it was coming for her. It was pursuing her. It could feel the intense fear in her heart, the vibration of her muscles. It could taste the tears running down her face, streaking her cheeks, relieving her eyes from the sting of smoke. It knew, as easily as it showed her the way out of the darkness, that it was showing her the path to extinction.

But there was so much she still wanted to do. Her kids were barely in the world. She wanted to see them grow, guide them. She wanted to improve her skills as a surgeon. She wanted to make her mark on the _world_. Her mind went back to the sinkhole, to the resolve that had made her call her friends to say goodbye. She had decided that she wanted to live, that she wanted Collin to live, and she had made it happen. Going down now would mean nothing. It would nullify her dreams. It would crush all the plans she had made for herself.

It was not supposed to end like this.

She edged from beneath the bed, pulling her shirt over her mouth to try and filter out some of the smoke. When she sat up on her knees, looking over the unconscious boy with the flames illuminating his troubled face, she was overwhelmed with sorrow. He was going to die here. She could not carry him, and his wounds would only take his life sooner if she tried to move him. He would breathe in the smoke, and die before the fire even reached him.

She stared at him for too long, captivated by the way the flames outlined his features. It was a haunting image. She could not know how much of this he understood, or if he even registered his surroundings at this point. Could he feel the heat growing in this tiny room? Did his eyes, barely closed under feathery lashes, see the gnawing fire crawling toward him? Did his brain still have the power to register the crackling of fire? It would occur to the most primal part of his brain first. He would feel himself choking, and his body would fight the sedation of the morphine. His lungs would fail to gather oxygen, and his blood would stop delivering it. His tissues would die. His mind would shut down. His heart would beat out of control.

And he would die, silently, and alone, feeling whatever pain was left. She had no way to know, and it killed her. If he was awake in there, he would be so afraid. And if the smoke failed to take him, if he managed to hold on, he would experience the worst of all human deaths. He would know what it was like to be burned alive.

She felt around the floor for the little vial of morphine she had used to put him out earlier. It was dark, and the fire cast shadows all over the place. It was coming closer, rapidly, setting a path on the ceiling and the far wall, creeping along the molding. She had no blankets, nothing to wave at it, to try and get it to slow down. And she had no time to keep looking for her little vial.

She grabbed his jeans, the ones she had cut off earlier that night, and balled them up. She made an oval, hovering at his bedside to gaze at him one last time. His belly was still open, exposing his innards, and they looked strange in the firelight. He was dripping blood, but still alive. He was still alive, despite everything that had happened to his young body. He would survive the smoke. He would taste the fire, and the last thing he would experience would be an intense, unbearable pain.

She could not let that happen to him. It was not what she had learned as a doctor, as a person. He was just a kid, and he had been through enough.

She shut her eyes tightly, braced her hands on either side of the oval, and pushed it down over his face. She pressed as hard as she could, holding her breath. He didn't even stir. She held it for too long, until the fire was almost upon them, and she could feel the heat surging down toward her. When she finally opened her eyes she could tell that he was gone. His chest no longer rose.

She let the jeans fall away.

His eyes were open, clouded. He was looking up, his mouth gaped. The sight of him appearing awake like that made her stumble backwards. It made her cry out in horror; horror at herself and what she had done to him. He had woken, briefly, and tried to breathe. He had been aware. He knew what was happening to him. She vomited reflexively in the corner.

But there was no time to linger, even though she felt like throwing herself into the fire now. It was growing on the ceiling, and the heat was overwhelming. She could barely breathe through the smoke. She pulled her shirt up over her mouth and nose and headed for the door, carefully sidestepping the flames that spread along the bottom molding. It seemed to go for the older wood, the duller wood, and so it left the door alone. It only burned up the doorframe, and slipped inside. It gave her an opportunity to escape, because when she tapped the door with her foot, it just fell forward. It deterred the flames beneath it, forcing them to rise up around it.

She hesitated for a split second, looking back at the bed, which was steadily catching fire. It was made of old, dry wood. It took the sheets like they were made of gasoline, and spread over the body, reacting eagerly to his exposed wounds. He would burn into nothing in a fire like this. His uncle wouldn't even be able to bury him.

She thought of how devastated he would be, how devastated she was by the events of this night, as she fled through the house. She could not shake her guilt for what she had done, even as she navigated a living room consumed by fire and covered in glass and corpses. Some of them were still alive. Burning, screaming, reaching out for her as she passed. She could only shrink away, aware that within seconds their lives would end. Between the bullet wounds and the fire consuming their torsos, they had no chance. And she had no chance to save them. The building was about to become nothing more than a fireball, and she wasn't on the outside of it they would send her ashes to Owen in a little plastic urn.

She found her way to the front window, which was completely smashed out. The door was covered in flames, but the window was free of them. She yanked the curtains down, pressed them along the broken glass, and rolled out of it, falling roughly into the front bushes. She could barely get her legs down to stand again, and even then she only stumbled away from the house.

She turned once she reached the edge of the driveway, where it met with that lonely dirt road they had arrived on. The house was dark, covered in bright orange stripes of flame, and black smoke rolled into the sky and obscured the stars. It was a massive bonfire, with burning people inside. As the seconds passed the screaming stopped. It was impossible for them to survive the intense heat, the smoke they had breathed in, the holes in their flesh. They had never stood a chance.

She was starting to fade herself. She hit her knees, trying to take long, slow breaths to ease the burning in her throat. She had taken in a lot of smoke, so much that she would need breathing treatments when she got back to the city. She needed oxygen, because her lungs were failing her.

And then she heard him. He was crawling toward the storage containers on all fours, coughing violently, covered in black ashes. He noticed her sitting there and looked up, staring at her with bright red eyes, his face showing in the light of the fire that burnt up his friends.

She reached her hand out lamely, trying to beckon him over.

He hauled himself upright and tugged on one of the containers, pulling the door open to reveal a car waiting inside. He stumbled to the driver's side and dug around on the ground, producing a jingling set of keys. He turned to stare at her again, before he even opened the door.

"Please," she said, her voice barely a rasp. She started crawling toward him, putting the rest of her energy into that short trip. She put her hands on the storage container and reached out for him, to ask for his help. "Please, take me to the hospital. I need oxygen."

He opened the door, sliding in alone. He barely seemed human in that moment, so caught up in himself that he was more like an animal. He showed raw pain, and an intimate understanding of all that he had lost in these last few minutes. His world was crumbling, and all he could do was run for his life. He barely even saw her, and even if he did, even if he thought to let her in, there was no telling where that car was going. Far away from here. So far that he never had to think of it again. It was all there in his eyes, falling free as tears, cutting a path down his dirty cheeks.

He drove away, and despite herself, she tried to follow him. She only made it back to the road before she hit her knees again. She was unwilling to fall all the way down, to give up all the way, so she steadied herself there. She stared ahead, watching his headlights dance in the distance.

He was gone, and she was alone with the burning house. She was alone with the dead inside, the smell of them cooking, the strange contrast of the tranquility above her, the cold, cold ground beneath her. She twisted to watch the fire, to dream of its warmth without daring to go near it. That house was gone now. Everyone inside, the people who had been alive only minutes ago, were all gone now. It had taken them, destroyed them, and destroyed her. She felt like the house, like she had been hollowed out, as well, like she sat there flickering against the stars, fading rapidly into nothing as they shone above. And her past, the man who was so much like her, the man who had brought her here in the first place, and produced this mess she sat in the wake of, was leaving. He had left her to be with his grief. He was driving on into the darkness, embracing it. And she was sitting there in the light, staring at it, entranced by it.

It was so hard to focus on how she had gotten here, and what she should do now that she was out. Everything had happened so quickly. It escalated, from the moment she was taken to this, just like the fire had spread. And she was so tired. And it was so hard to breathe.

She pressed her hands into the soil, leaning over, spreading her shoulders to give her lungs more room to expand. Trying to breathe deeper only made her cough more, and that made her nauseous. She knew she had all the symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. She knew the smoke, the debris from the fire, the chemicals produced by the burning, were lining her airways, choking her mucous membranes, preventing her from absorbing oxygen. She was still conscious, still breathing to some extent, but she needed a bronchoscopy and supplemental oxygen.

She knew these things, but still she sat there. She stared into the fire and saw the boy on the bed again, saw herself suffocating him, saw the dead eyes staring back at her. Her emotions were fading rapidly into this state of shock, but the last one to linger was sadness. It was so powerful that it still produced tears, even though her body felt drained.

She saw the lights and recognized them. Years ago, when their plane had crashed in the forest and she had stayed awake for days caring for her friends, she had seen similar lights pouring over the ground. It was a sign of hope, though she had not understood it at the time. She only saw it as a sign of civilization in the forest, a way to relinquish the intense responsibility she felt for the lives all around her. Now the lights made her think of beams coming down from the heavens, picking up the souls of the people who had burned in that building.

She finally snapped out of her trance when the helicopter landed nearby. She braced herself against the wind it produced, and then as the wings slowed she looked up, intensely grateful for the black-garbed bodies swarming toward her. She counted eight of them, armed with rifles, sporting FBI on their jackets in reflective yellow letters.

"I see the hostage!" one of them shouted. He was running straight toward her, and for a moment it seemed the he wouldn't stop. He skittered to her side on one knee, flinging his rifle over his back and putting both hands on her shoulders. "Dr. Yang, are you injured?"

She stared at him. Nothing he said clicked.

He looked back at the others, who were in various stages of crouching as they watched the building cook behind her. "Secure the area. Call the others to land. We need to get her out of here."

Before she could protest, or really realize what he was doing, he had picked her up. He carried her toward an empty field, where another set of blinding lights streaked across the ground. He paused briefly, waiting for a helicopter to touch down, and then he started jogging toward it. Cristina closed her eyes against the wind. She already felt like they were burned out of their sockets. She was grateful that he had carried her, because as he tried to set her inside the helicopter, she realized that her legs weren't working. She sunk down like she was boneless.

She was dragged up to a seat, and someone put their arms securely around her. The door slid shut with a powerful thud and the whole vehicle jerked forward.

"We're gonna get you to the hospital," a familiar voice said. He was the one holding her.

She looked up at him, staring for a full minute before she recognized him. It was Swartz. It was the man who had gone with Owen to find Derek in the mountains. It was the homicide detective who had broken down a hotel door because he thought Alex might be in danger. She had only met him once in person, and briefly, but seeing him now brought a strange feeling to the front of her mind. She was relieved. She was safe. She was going home.

"Owen?" she asked, breaking off into a cough. Her throat felt like it was full of sand. She massaged it with one hand, resting her head against the detective's shoulder. He was wearing body armor like the other agents, the three men sitting around them, but he was the warmest of them. He had the kindest face, the most comforting smile.

He rubbed her shoulder. "I'll put out the call. Just try to rest. We'll be there soon." He pulled out a phone and started dialing, keeping his eyes on her. "Don't worry. Your friends are waiting."

She could not be calmed by that. It did not help to know that Meredith and Shane would be waiting for her. It did not make her feel safer, to imagine Owen waiting to scoop her out of the helicopter and carry her down to the emergency room. Her mind was too tangled up in what had happened to focus on what was going to happen.

Warez was long gone, but he seemed like he would survive. Where would he go? What would he do? And she was long departed from who she had been when she walked into that house. It settled on her, just like the soot did. She felt like someone else, someone who could kill another person, even out of mercy. She felt like someone who had left those screaming people in there, aware of their pain, but able to walk past it without helping. She knew what she would feel in the days to come – the guilt, the regret, the uncertainty. She would doubt her decisions, and herself, and the path she had chosen. She could see it clearly, even with the smoke in her brain. So knowing that her friends were there, waiting for her, did not comfort her. She knew that they would see what she had become. And they would shy away from it, like she wished she could.

She could only sit there and wonder, shivering, trembling. She could listen to the silence in her own head, tuning out the helicopter blades, and the FBI agents trying to comfort her, to offer her water. She could picture her hands holding onto those jeans, holding them tightly, pressing down.

She could see his dead eyes staring back at her, cursing the person she had become.


	80. Haze

**Haze.**

**March 1, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"He never got to explain himself."

Owen stirred, coming out a dream that he forgot the moment his eyes opened. Cristina was still staring at the ceiling, like she had been when he fell asleep. He had tried to stay up with her, but he had not slept the night she was taken, or the day she had been in the hospital. It was hard now to keep his eyes open, even though he could see the turmoil she was in. It had come to the point that his exhaustion was purely physical, no longer able to be staved off by his adrenaline, by his concern. But he had been asleep for at least an hour, so he could stay awake for the moment, and watch her. She was in the same position, looking up, her brow furrowed, her eyes the same dense confusion they had been the first day she had talked after the plane crash. It was like she was explaining it to him again, only silently, and as they lay there it occurred to him, as well as it must have occurred to her, that it had only been a day. It was the same day she had been found. It was almost midnight, but not quiet. Only twenty-four hours had passed, and the day had shaken her to the core.

He hung on her words, sliding a little closer, tightening his hold on her. He had his arm over her stomach, possessively holding her there, in case she decided to disappear in the middle of the night. He could feel her trembling. He sat up on his elbow and leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, to her cheek, and then settling closer to her. He wanted to share his warmth, because she felt so cold. Her skin was frigid despite the hot room. He had cranked the heat up for her.

"Who?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as he could. She was startled anyway, like she had forgotten, once again, that he was there. He stroked her hair. "Who are you talking about?"

Her eyes flickered to him. She spoke matter-of-factly, like he had missed something important she had said a hundred times already. "Donnie. He never got to explain himself." She bundled her arms up, drawing the blankets over her mouth. She looked like a child hiding beneath her sheets. "He just died, and he never got to explain why he left."

"Donnie was the boy, right?" She had told them the story of her captivity, but he had a feeling she had cut some parts out. She had spoken blandly, almost out of boredom, and she had ignored questions presented to her. She told the FBI what they needed to know, but she went no further than that. Now she seemed upset, and he was intensely curious. He knew he shouldn't question her, because she would shut down like she had at the hospital, but she seemed to want to talk now.

She twisted, sliding down in bed, and snuggled up to his chest. She put one hand on his shoulder, and shut her eyes, like she was listening to his heart. "Yeah. He was the boy."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I just wish I knew what he would have said," she went on, her voice become wistful. She was far away from him now, perhaps nearing sleep. "I think it would have made it easier on Warez. I think he would… he would have stayed, if he got to talk to him."

Swartz had given him a breakdown of the man who had taken Cristina. He was not as kind as Cristina painted him to be, but she seemed convinced that he was just a troubled soul. When she gave her statement to the FBI she had not alluded to anything he had done to her, and her exam had confirmed that she was hardly injured. She had a few scratches, gunk in her lungs from the smoke, and a mild case of bronchitis, but otherwise she was miraculously healthy. Owen had been relieved at first, but then he realized the real impact spending the day with a murderer had taken on Cristina. It was purely mental. She was wounded inside.

He had a lot of things to say about Jose Warez, a lot of things he wanted to say to him, to do to him, for what he had done to Cristina, but this was not the time for that. She was vulnerable, and he would not crack the reality she had built up for herself. She needed time to accept it. She needed him to be there to listen, not to criticize her. She had always done that for him in the past.

"I love you." She looked up suddenly, her eyes illuminated in the moonlight that poured through their window. She was serious now, her expression intense, tears building up and streaming down her cheeks. "I love you. No matter what happens to me, just know that I would say that. Those would be my last words. You don't have to wonder."

He could not help the spike of fear those words evoked in him. He tucked her hair back behind her ear, doing his best to hide what he felt. "You're not going anywhere."

"That's not the point," she insisted. She drew up her cold hands and held onto his face, nodding to herself as she spoke. "The point is, those are the words I would say. So you don't have to wonder. I would tell you that I loved you. Because I do. I love you more than anything. And if I had that choice I would never let you go. I would never let this end."

His concern grew. He did his best to keep it to himself, because she was so fragile. She was almost manic, looking at him this way, saying these things. "Okay." He kissed her forehead. "Okay."

She nodded once more, affirming it for herself, and then she snuggled back into his side. She sighed heavily, and then coughed, groaning. She balled her hand into his shirt, tugging it back and forth over his shoulder, and then she whispered, "Can you take this off?"

He put his hand over hers. "Why?"

"I just want to feel your skin," she said, glancing up, and then looking at their hands. "It helps me sleep. I want to be closer to you."

He sat up, aware of her eyes following his every move, and pulled his shirt off. He was grateful that the heat was up now. When he lay back down, Cristina sat up and started taking her clothes, off, once piece at a time, and then she curled up on his chest again. She was warmer now, but he could a distinct shaking in her hands. He put his hand over hers, over his heart, and held onto it. She yawned, stretched her toes against his legs, and relaxed into him.

"You said I was a bad mother."

He stiffened. He had hoped she had forgotten about that, in all the chaos. He also realized it was a selfish hope on his part. He had accused her of neglecting their children because he was tired, and frustrated, and jealous. It had been a stupid thing to say, one of those things that he hated the moment it left his mouth, but she remembered it. So he had to own up to it now.

He squeezed her hand a little. "You're an amazing mother. I was just… being a bad husband."

"I was kidnapped." She shifted back from him once more, holding onto one of his arms, keeping it pressed against her body. She stared at him intently, her words jarring. "I was kidnapped, and there were guns, and fire, and people died. I saw them die. I heard them screaming… in the fire."

He waited, wishing he could look away. Her eyes were captivating. He was unsure of her motives, but her words made him feel like it was all his fault.

She reached up, laying one hand delicately on his face. "So I need you to listen to me. You are not a bad husband. You are… you are the love of my life. So you _have_ to listen. I want you to call Dr. Wyatt and go back to therapy."

Part of his brain shut down at that idea. He opened his mouth to object.

She lightly moved her hand over his lips, shaking her head. "I know what you want to say. I've heard it a hundred times. I've had this conversation in my head _so_ many times. But this time you have to listen to me. Because I was kidnapped. I almost died."

He had to look away now. He had nothing to come back with.

"Listen to me, Owen. I know you. So I know what's going on in your head. You _need_ this. You're not going backwards; you're not going back to that. You're going forward. To the future. Our future." She stroked his face, a few tears dripping onto his arm. "Don't you get that? That's what I'm saying. We have a future. We have a _huge_ future. You said that to me. You said you imagined such a big future for us. And if you meant it, you have to do this."

"Cristina…"

"Do it for me, and for the kids." She settled back into her previous position, like the conversation had never happened. She went on quietly, distantly. "Because Donnie never got to explain himself. It all went wrong, all at the same time. And he's dead now."

He lay there for a while, silent and still, listening to her breathing slow down until she drifted off. She was still wheezing a little, shaking occasionally, sometimes stirring violently and then settling back in, but she seemed to sink into pleasant dreams. He was glad for that. He knew she had been through a lot from the story Swartz had told him of her rescue, but she was taking it well, aside from the strange things she said. She almost seemed peaceful.

He waited until he knew she was asleep, and then he slipped away. He crouched by the side of the bed, watching her, reminding himself how grateful he was for her, and convinced himself that she was right about therapy. He needed it. He would call first thing in the morning.

But right now he had to get out of this house. He went for the back porch, where the heat left his body, and every memory of the desert faded away. He stared out at the trees, the darkness, and settled his mind. He was tired, so tired that he thought about curling up on the frosty boards, but his mind spun. He was anxious for her, scared for her. Having her home was amazing, but it did not let him escape the fear her absence had evoked. He had apologies to make to Meredith, for the things he said while Cristina was missing. He had to fix the board on the front porch he had put his fist through. It was all easier when he was outside, when the heat could not strangle his heart.

He heard a little tap on the door and he spun toward it, suddenly more alert. He saw Collin peeking through at him, waiting expectantly to be picked up.

Owen smiled despite everything. He stepped inside and scooped the kid into his arms, appreciating how it felt to hold him. Collin was a radiator, and _that_ heat never bothered Owen. It was impossible to imagine the desert when his little hands were curled up on Owen's shoulders. He carried him into his room, glancing into the nursery as they passed. Noah and Evelyn were sound asleep. He had fed them two hours ago, and though he knew they would spring to life soon, he was glad for the silence now. His home was calm. He was calm.

"Play?" Collin prompted as Owen set him on his bed. He threw his injured leg around and limped around his room, pointing out his toys one at a time.

Owen shook his head, holding out his arms again. "No. You're supposed to be asleep, buddy."

"Sleepy," Collin responded, coming willingly and curling up in Owen's arms. He was just like his mother in that respect. Owen slid back on the bed, smiling when Collin started twirling his chest hairs. He rested his cheek over Owen's heart, staring ahead, sighing occasionally. He had a habit of resisting sleep, and Owen had a habit of sitting up with him.

Eventually the kid lost his battle, and Owen could have laid him down and left him there, but he sat with him for a while, watching the night change colors through the window. Slowly, steadily, it became darker, as midnight became one or two in the morning. When his mind was finally at ease, he carefully tucked Collin into his bed and kissed his forehead. He was tiny for his age, and despite only having known him for a relatively short time Owen was in love with the kid. He watched him, smiling, and then cut the light off and let him sleep.

When he returned to his room Cristina was awake. She was watching him, appearing more herself than she was before. She smiled at him, stretched, and slid the covers back.

"Collin was up. I was just tucking him in," Owen explained. He resumed their earlier position, glad when she snuggled up to his side again. "How do you feel? Does your throat hurt? Do you want to use your inhaler again?"

She shook her head. "No. I feel… better. How long did I sleep?"

"Few hours."

"I feel like this is the first time I've been awake since… you know." She bit her lip, taking a deep breath. "Did I really say those things… about you?"

"You convinced me to go back to Dr. Wyatt."

She watched him, uncertain. "And you think you should?"

He could have taken it back right then, insisted that he was fine. He could tell she had lost that fire from earlier. She was willing to accept his decision this time. She was willing to let him take the wrong path once more. But he was resolved. Holding Collin had reminded him how much he valued what he had here, and the possibility of losing his family was too much to handle.

"I do," he said softly, leaning in to kiss her. "I do, and I will. I promise. But you don't have to worry about that. I just want you to rest."

"I could sleep for a year," she admitted.

"Me too. What do you say we just stay here tomorrow? Just me, you, and the kids?"

She smiled, appearing relieved by that request. She must have been thinking of it. She must have wanted it as badly as he did. It was the only way to reassure himself that she was not going anywhere, to remind himself that she would be here, and she would be okay. And he knew the best way to recover was to be with family, to be with her children. She was always a shade brighter with them. She would not be allowed to dwell on what had happened while Collin was nearby.


	81. Recovery

**Recovery.**

**March 4, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She was sitting alone, quietly, in the darkness, staring out the nursery window like she could see more than just snowflakes falling against the black backdrop. He wished he knew what she was thinking. She was so hard to read. Less than an hour ago she had been lively, entertaining her son by crashing a little toy car repeatedly into the wall, and she had been smiling like she had forgotten what sadness was. But she was solemn now. She was full of dark thoughts that pervaded even when she had a baby in her arms. She must have been taken by something powerful, to have fallen so rapidly. He wished they were back in Zurich together, because he would have gone over and wrapped his arms around her. He felt out of place here, like she was off-limits. He just stood in the doorway, watching her, wishing he could do more for her.

She was holding her infant son, the smaller of the twins, and when she finally chanced a glance away from the window she gave him a sad smile. In the dim light he was looking back, staring, like babies do. Shane wondered if the newborn could sense distress, if he knew that his mother was having a hard time. Perhaps that was why he never cried.

Collin started laughing in the living room, drawing her attention to the doorway. When she saw Shane standing there she gave him that same little smile, only a little warmer. He took it as an invitation, creeping to her side and crouching down beside her rocking chair. He placed his hand along the baby's body, half over her arm. When she was rescued Owen had wanted desperately to go to the hospital to meet her, so Shane volunteered to watch the kids. He was familiar with them now, because he had spent the whole day with them. It made it easy to see the minute differences in their faces as the days passed, as they decompressed and expanded. Cristina liked to compare them to tadpoles. Shane was engrossed with them. He ran his finger over Noah's cheek, reminded of the first time he held Collin when the kid was just as small.

"You should come out," Shane whispered. He hated to see her sitting in the dark like this. Despite what she thought about the nature of her heart, he knew she was meant for the light. Seeing this reminded him of times he would rather forget.

She hummed, looking downward slowly, considerately. "Do you think I'm a good mother?"

He was not surprised by her question, but he still had to temper himself to answer it. He knew where her doubts came from. Owen had been a little snippy the last few days, and Cristina had explained his steady regression to Shane the first night he had spent at the house. He was at his first therapy session that night, having left two hours ago. He would go to work afterward. She seemed relieved by his absence, but the things he said when he was angry stuck with her. Shane had to remind himself that she loved Owen, lest he say something that got him sent back to Zurich. He had to remind himself that he needed her as a friend.

So he steeled himself, shut down the part of him that wanted to hurt her husband, and leaned over the arm of the rocking chair. "I do. And so does Collin. Everybody knows you're a great mom."

It was strange to see her in need of reassuring, but having children had put her in a vulnerable position. This was something she was not experienced with. It was like being an intern all over again, in a position she had never studied for. He knew she would warm up to it, dominate the whole field, just like she had done for surgery, but seeing the in-between stage was humbling.

She smiled again, a little sweeter, and rested her head on the back of the chair. "I know." She looked down, sighing, and then shifted her gaze to the ceiling. "I _know_ that."

She thought to herself for a moment, frowning.

"I wish I could expect him to come back better." She looked at Shane, a tremor of regret in her eyes. "I keep thinking he'll go to therapy, and then when he gets back he'll be himself again. But it doesn't work like that. It could… not work. It could… not work, Shane."

"Then you would try something else," he supplied.

She almost seemed to want to go on, like there were a million things she could say, a million things she wanted to get out, but she stopped herself. She locked her jaw, looked away, and steeled whatever was boiling inside. "Do me a favor and get this fat thing off of me."

Shane laughed, shifting to her front and taking Noah delicately from her arms. He was getting heavier, but he was still under seven pounds. He had been born early, as a twin, but his small frame was a little off-putting. He stood back for Cristina, who leaned into the crib to check on her daughter. Evelyn was sleeping soundly. Noah would join her soon. Shane set the boy down on his side of the crib, looking again, briefly, at the snow falling outside. Cristina was watching it, too, her arms crossed over her chest. It seemed to make her sad again.

"Come on," he urged, running his hand over her shoulder. "Let them sleep. We can go scavenge for food. I assume you have more than the cereal I've been eating the last three days."

She yawned and stretched, leading him out of the room. "You assume wrong. This is still me we're talking about. I mean, Owen tries to stock the cabinets, but Collin gets hungry. And I get hungry." When she stepped into the living room, Collin was shooting past her, and she reached out to grab him. She flung him backward onto the couch, provoking giggles.

"About time you came out," Alex said. He was lounging on the couch, and as Collin landed beside him he reached out to tickle him. "I got another soppy text from Jo."

Cristina seemed to come out of her funk a little more. She sunk into the recliner. "About?"

"She wants me to move back into the house," he responded, throwing a pillow at Collin when he reared up to smack him. "She acts like I moved to Canada or something. I mean, I'm right here. If she wants to apologize, she can come over here and do it."

"Do you really care that much? I mean, really?" Cristina twisted around, throwing her legs over the arm of the recliner and lying backward.

"No, I don't care that much. I don't need an apology. I got over it a long time ago."

"So at this point you're just tormenting her?"

"No." He glanced at Shane, and then he seemed to decide that he didn't care who heard him. He turned his eyes back to Cristina. "Every time I think about moving back I just…"

"Freeze up," she supplied.

He nodded, shrugging the darker emotions away. "Exactly." His eyes became more serious, and they fixated on her. "Like with the fire thing, with you."

Cristina swallowed, her eyes flickering back to the nursery. Shane and Alex had been there the last few days to see her sadness grow, but Alex had been working the night shift alongside Owen. They didn't hear her wake up screaming. He would try to help her, comfort her, but she always sent him away. She was alone, perpetually, and by her own choice. He wondered if Alex could sense it, or if he was too caught up in his own problems to notice.

"Screw all that sharing crap," Alex remarked. He seemed to see it, at least on some level. He knew he should break the silence, not let her think too much. "We have the right to mope if we want to. We're adults. Plus, what the hell do they know?"

"Yeah. Screw them." Cristina murmured in response.

Alex was watching her thoughtfully. "Did you talk to Webber about going back? Your sub sucks. I mean, he does good work, whatever, but he looks like a dried out scarecrow."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying you miss working with me?"

He scoffed.

"He said I had to see a counselor before I came back, and they had to sign off on me. I think I should protest. I need to do surgery, not talk about my _feelings_."

"Amen."

She glanced at the clock, twisting her lips, almost appearing relieved by the time. "You have to go soon. You're already on probation."

He grimaced, but got up anyway. Shane knew from listening in that he dreaded seeing his wife at work. He was still mad at her for something – Cristina refused to elaborate. "Fine. I'll be back late. Webber keeps trying to meet with me, have a man-to-man sit down."

"Gross," Cristina said.

It only took him a short time to get ready. Shane settled on the couch as he moved around the house, and within half an hour he was gone. Collin seemed disappointed, but he snuggled with his mother on the chair, becoming distracted by a cooking show playing at low volume on the TV. Shane kept his eyes on Cristina, curious of her mood, which steadily mellowed the longer they were alone. Eventually she tilted her head back and returned his gaze, fearlessly, as always.

And then she got up, setting her son down in the chair and flopping onto the couch with Shane. He slid over to give her room, but she seemed to want to be near him. She stared at him sideways, thoughtful, her eyes narrowed. She was thinking about something serious again, only this time it was less threatening. She no longer seemed sad, or afraid, but curious. She was more free than he had seen her since he arrived. It was refreshing.

"I hate being close to people," she said, her tone even and matter-of-fact, like she was reciting surgical protocols. She wrapped both of her arms around one of his, resting her head on his shoulder and shutting her eyes. "People suck. And they smell. And they make weird noises."

He was silent, amused by the irony of her words.

"If, by the time you're my age, you don't hate people, you haven't met enough of them." She yanked a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapped it around herself, and yawned. "And then you have those weirdos like Kepner who think people are inherently good. We're not. We suck. We're selfish, and needy, and noisy, and smelly. So we just pick out the people we like, the ones who aren't as annoying as the others, and stick with them."

"Sounds reasonable," he replied.

She sat up a little, staring at him, seeming a little upset by that. "But it's not. We give these people total access to ourselves. We let ourselves get hurt, badly, because we couldn't bear to be alone. We mess up our whole lives, our careers, for those people." She settled back in again, sighing, and let her eyes slide shut once more. "But we keep them around, even when they suck. You're one of my people, you know. I'm not saying you suck. Not right now. You're just… one of my people."

He said nothing else, accepting the quiet between them. She seemed calm, a little less burdened than she had been hours ago. He could handle that. He was glad for her drawn out narrative, because it showed the side of her he had been missing. She sounded like herself again, bold and curious. She may not have understood the behaviors that drove some people, but she didn't need to, because she was Cristina. She had her people, and they had her – they wouldn't want it any other way. Shane didn't want it any other way.


	82. Grief

**A/N: If you look on my Deviant Art profile again, under the same name I use on this website, you can see the newest picture my boyfriend has produced for this story. It features Owen, Cristina, and Collin in bed together on a long winter night. Collin is absolutely adorable. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the next few chapters, maybe aside from this one, will be much lighter. I hope you enjoy!**

**XxX**

**Grief.**

**March 10, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was the middle of the night and Owen was wide awake. He stared silently at the window, where the snow persisted in a feathery downpour. His whole house was sleeping, drifting off in some peaceful wonderland. Cristina was curled up on his chest, breathing on his neck, occasionally squinting like she was in the middle of a complicated surgery. Collin was on his other side, facing away, using his arm as a body pillow. He usually kicked in his sleep, but tonight he was as still as his mother. His youngest, only sixteen days old to the minute, had caused a stir earlier, but now they were sound asleep in their nursery, oblivious to the world. Owen wished he could join them all, but the simplicity of their lives was a sharp contrast to his. He had a dozen things on his mind, from his frequent, jarring therapy sessions to Cristina's insistence that she should go back to work. He had no choice in the matter, but she knew he wanted her to stay home, so she was angry with him. He also thought of the news he had gotten earlier, about the tumors running rampant in the hand of a good friend. Derek had gone under the knife days ago and the border tests had revealed that the unruly cells were gone. His hand would never work the same, but he was alive, and he would stay alive to raise his kids. He no longer had the mobility or precision to perform surgery, but some pieces of his dreams had remained intact. Owen thought it was a bittersweet ending.

His mind was full, so when a phone started vibrating beneath him he barely noticed it. He caught it in time to answer in a hushed voice. "Hello? Hello?"

"Where is Cristina? I need to talk to her."

It was Meredith Grey. He had managed to avoid her for a few days. When her husband received the news about his suddenly useless hand, he had become bitter and angry, and she had responded by becoming just as bitter, just as angry. She sounded like she was worked up now, and Owen had no interest in being the one she released her rage on.

He shook Cristina a little, freeing his arm from under her. She stirred, groaned, and glared at him, ready to turn the other way and burrow into the sheets. He held out the phone to her, mouthing the name of the caller. She took it immediately.

"Mer?" Her voice was groggy, sort of lifeless, but she still managed to sound concerned. She could have been doing anything, in the middle of anything, and she would have answered that phone.

He could hear humming from the other line, but the words were unclear.

Cristina sat straight up, her mouth gaping. "He did _what_? Where is he? Where are you?"

Owen sat up, too, reclaiming his other arm from Collin. He sensed the seriousness of the situation, and wondered if they would spend the night in this bed, or in the emergency room. In their lives both of those things were equally possible.

"Okay, just stay inside. I'm coming." She looked around, glancing at Owen, and at the toddler sleeping beside him. "I have to get the kids. Just stay there. Don't go after him."

When she hung up, she forwent explaining things to Owen. She just motioned to the baby beside him and threw a blanket at his head. She rushed out of the room, came back, and almost fell trying to get her shoes on. Owen grabbed Collin, wrapped him in the supplied blanket, and carried him after her into the nursery. She handed him the diaper bag, and started picking the babies up.

"What did she say?" Owen asked, though she did not seem to be in the mood for a question-and-answer session. "Where are we going?"

"Mer's house. Derek left."

"What do you mean, he left? He can't walk!"

"He can hobble. And he hobbled into the woods."

"He hobbled…? What do you mean?"

She paused, her daughter in her arms, and seemed frustrated with him. "Mer and Derek were arguing, and he wanted to go all rogue and independent because his wheelchair makes him feel useless and his hand and whatever, so he said he was going camping."

"He just had surgery!"

"I _know_," she growled in response, shoving the baby into his free arm. She picked up Noah and headed for the door. "Meredith is with the kids so we have to track down the dumbass who's wandering around in the snow with fresh incisions on his hand."

She continued her warpath to the car, and Owen had no choice but to follow. He set Collin in the passenger's seat and strapped the baby into her car seat, glancing up to see Cristina doing the same. She looked determined, and worried, and angry. Most of it was anger. She hated being woken up. When she looked up at him, that anger spread in his direction.

"Don't just stand there. Let's go!"

It was a silent drive. Collin woke up and looked confused, snuggling deep into his mother's chest for warmth, but he didn't make a sound. He knew when things were serious. Owen kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the icy road, and wondered what could have gotten into Derek's head. He could barely walk and he was still recovering from surgery. His weakness from being comatose for months showed through in everything he did. How could he walk into this weather, thinking he was going camping? How could he leave his wife and kids worried about him? It didn't sound like something he would do. There must have been something else, a piece of the puzzle Owen was missing. He didn't dare ask Cristina what it might be. He knew the focus should be bringing him home right now. They would worry about _keeping_ him home later.

Every light seemed to be on in the Shepherd residence. Meredith came out when they drove up, and her son Bailey sprung out behind her. He didn't seem to realize what was happening. Owen caught a glimpse of Zola from the living room window, and judging by the frown on her face, she was a little more observant than her brother.

"Which way did he go?" Cristina asked the moment they went to meet Meredith. The car was still running behind them, and the twins were sleeping in their car seats.

Meredith was holding herself tightly, frustrated tears in her eyes. She motioned roughly to a set of tracks in the snow. "That way. Stay with the kids. I'm going after him."

"I'm coming, too," Cristina said. She looked at Owen. "Stay with the kids."

He had no intention of allowing the two of them, who had recently had children and who were thin enough to turn into icicles in this kind of weather, go stomping around in the snow, in the dark, looking for Derek Shepherd. He was trained, if only briefly, to deal with these kinds of situations. The two of them would let their desperation, and their anger, cloud their judgement, and they would get lost before they made it to the woods. It was a matter of mentality, not capability. And he had a feeling Derek would respond better if someone less important to him found him out there. He could be weak, perhaps lying in the snow, and the shame of it would haunt him.

"Let me go," Owen said, keeping his voice level. He motioned back to the car. "Just take the kids inside for a while, make some hot chocolate. I'll bring him back." It looked like both of them were going to object, but he cut them off. "Just take our kids inside. And I need a flashlight. I'll bring him back." He focused on Meredith, insisting now. "I'll bring him back. It's gonna be fine."

She locked her jaw. "It better be."

She handed him a flashlight and he set off down the line of tracks, losing his visibility of the women almost immediately. The snow was coming down in a blanket, obstructing everything, and slowly wiping the footprints away. He noticed a distinct drag in each step, from the unsteady walk of the man he was looking for. Owen marveled at how far he had gotten on those weak legs. He must have been determined to go, to have battled this snow.

He walked for over twenty minutes before the tracks became wider, more like partial snow angels. Derek had fallen a few times and struggled to get up. Owen kept expecting to come upon him, collapsed in the snow, looking bitter, every few steps he took, but the neurosurgeon was determined. He had made it into the woods, almost a mile into the ice.

Owen found him sitting back on his knees by a frozen stream, staring at it, scowling, with snow filling his dark hair. He had a tackle box beside him, and a damp sleeping back wedged against a nearby tree. It looked like he had thrown it. Owen came to his side and looked at the stream as well, wondering what had stopped his colleague from trying to swim across. Derek looked tired, but his exhaustion didn't come from his walk out here. He had been growing that expression since his return from the mountains, since Owen had found him in that hospital room.

"You know I used to… I used to hike up mountains," Derek said, his voice distant. He placed his good hand in the snow, running his finger over the crystalline surface. "Before I came to Seattle I went on hiking trips every other weekend. Fifty pounds of gear, my fishing pole. Sometimes my friends came but I went alone a lot. It was nice, you know? It let me get away from everything for a while. There's just something about the woods… something free." He looked back at Owen, and then at the ground, pressing his good hand into the snow. "Now every step burns. And I haven't even come that far. It's not fair."

Owen crouched down nearby, covertly making sure the man was uninjured. Derek seemed wound up, so he dared not reach out for him. He would probably throw a punch.

"I put my whole life into surgery," Derek went on in a murmur, almost talking to himself. His voice rose suddenly, "I put my whole _life_ into this, and some _carjacker_ gets to take that away? Some punk gets to take that away from me?"

If there were perfect words to say to someone grieving, whether from the loss of a family member, or from a traumatic shift in their life, Owen could not grasp them. He just nodded, and tried to appear sympathetic, and alert. He listened, and he watched, and he waited for any indication that his colleague was going to get up and try to forge that river.

"I lost my best friend," Derek said, losing the vigor in his voice. It broke around those words. "And I died! I died in the woods, and they put me in that hospital, and everybody went to my funeral! But I came back! I came back, and I was getting better… I was getting better."

He paused, his frantic eyes falling on Owen.

"It's not fair. Everything we've lost… it's not fair." He held up his bandaged hand, staring at it, frowning at it, scowling at it, like he wished he could rip it off and throw it onto the ice. "I am so sick… just so sick of losing things. I should've expected this. But I didn't."

"Maybe with physical therapy-"

Derek looked up suddenly. "Don't say that. You know what this is." He dropped his injured hand in the snow, wincing. "This is useless. I can never… I can never perform surgery again. I lost… my whole career, because of _this_. And I'm powerless to stop it. Webber made that pretty clear. Everything I've given to that hospital, everything I've done… my whole career."

"Derek-"

"No. You know what? I can't control that. I can't change that situation. I'm done. It's over." Derek struggled to his feet, swaying a little, but managing to stay upright. Owen noticed the tremor in him, an obvious weakness, and he rose to catch him if he fell. Derek stumbled further away in response. "But I can control this. I can control this, and I'm going camping, dammit."

"Camping? It's snowing! And it's past midnight."

Derek grabbed onto a young tree for support, hobbling toward the river. "It doesn't matter. At least I know what I'm getting out there."

"Yeah, frostbite," Owen objected.

"Right, frostbite, and things that make sense!" Derek snapped. He turned back again, waving his good hand around. "Everything out there doesn't make sense! My hand… doesn't make sense!" He headed down the shore. "Tell Meredith I'll be back in a few days."

Owen pursued him, stiffening when he slid a short ways toward the water. He moved in front of Derek, holding up his hands to keep him from trying his hand at ice-skating. He knew he could win a fight with Derek in this weakened state, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. "Okay, wait. Would you just relax for a second?"

Derek tried to barge past him. Owen shoved him back a few feet.

"Hey, wait. Just listen to me for a second. I know you're frustrated. You lost a lot this week, a lot in the recent months, but you just have to give me a second to talk to you, okay? If you still feel like frolicking in the snow, I'll let you go. But just listen first."

Derek paused, staring at him expectantly, impatiently.

"Thank you," Owen said. He had to grab a tree, too, or risk sliding down the bank. It was coated with frozen mud. "Now I know you've had it hard with the physical therapy, and the new babies. I know you feel useless, powerless, but this isn't how you take the power back. Running off in the middle of the night just hands the power over to your emotions. So do something rational, something you want to do, to help you cope with this. But not something crazy. Not something that's gonna get you hurt, or make your family worry about you."

Derek took a hard breath, gazing at the river, and then he sighed and leaned into the tree. His voice dropped a little, falling into line as he sank back to his knees. He looked up at the trees and sighed. "I just want to be able to… _breathe_ again."

"Okay. Okay. Then how about you give yourself some more time with physical therapy, and then when you're steady on your feet again, we can go camping. Someplace with a lot of breathing room. But I'm not letting you go _now_, and I'm not letting you go alone. So take it or leave it."

"I lost my hand, Hunt," Derek said, coming out of nowhere with a devastated sort of voice.

Owen nodded, and though he could have pointed out that his hand was still good so many things, like holding his kids' hands, he kept his mouth shut. He just grabbed Derek by the shoulder, by the arm, and helped him up, grabbing the gear he had carried out there in his free hand. Derek seemed reluctant to lean on him, to relinquish any more of the power he still had left, but Owen wasn't bothered by it. He imagined himself, years ago, refusing help for a condition that had driven him away from Cristina. It was not so distant anymore. The two of them were in the same boat this time, drifting, and even if Derek would've preferred to get stranded with someone else, they were stuck with each other. Owen intended to help him, so they could sail back together.

Once the trees parted and the path to the house became clear, Derek regained some of his energy. He staggered off on his own, panting a little, and then returned to walk beside Owen. "Could we just… keep this between us?"

"If you can abstain from trying to freeze yourself again, yeah."

Derek lost some of his sorrow in favor of amusement. He took the tackle box from Owen, looking at it as they walked. "Who goes camping in the middle of the night?"

"Who goes camping with only a sleeping bag and a tackle box?"

"I was planning on finding my own food. Hunter-gatherer style."

Owen cocked an eyebrow. The house was coming up and he could see Meredith watching them through the window. He wanted to keep Derek amused, and far away from the mood he had been in when Owen had found him. "We're not doing that on our trip."

"Why not? Afraid you can't provide for yourself?"

"No. I happen to like life. I'm not gonna kill myself chasing squirrels."

"Oh, so I guess that army training was lacking. Pity. Could have been a good weekend."

Owen paused, sensing a jab in those words. Derek looked competitive, and that shadow on his face had lifted. Owen decided to go with it. "For one, you don't go 'hunter-gatherer' for a weekend. You do it for at least a week. And two, the army did train me to survive in the wilderness, but I don't use my training frivolously."

"So we'll go for a week then," Derek responded, continuing on until he could place his tackle box on the back porch. "You can bring whatever you want, but I'm doing it the wild way."

"I think you were in the snow too long, Shepherd."

"If you're not up for the challenge, it's fine. I mean, I was handicapped less than a week ago and I'm up for it. What's your excuse? Getting old?"

"Is this a cross between a midlife crisis and the hand thing?" Owen wondered.

Derek smiled, taking the sleeping back from him. He placed it beside the box on the porch, and the two items were gradually covered in snowflakes. "No. I was in a coma, lost to the whole world. Eyes closed, eating through a tube. The longer I'm out the more I _feel_ like I'm back in. I just want to live a little, for a little while."

Owen had no experiences to draw on to help him sympathize with those words, but he tried to understand them. It must have been like the desert was to Owen – sometimes when he was stressed, the world got hot, and he had to leave the house to embrace the cold again. His head would clear up. But there was a woman looking at them from the back door, curious about their conversation, and Owen had to wonder where she fit into Derek's narrative.

"What about Meredith? And your kids?" Owen wondered.

Derek looked at the door, his smile shifting downward a bit when he saw Meredith standing there. "I'll talk to her." He clasped Owen on the shoulder and seemed to want to say something but he kept it to himself. He just walked around the porch and went inside.

Owen stayed where he was for a moment, soaking in the cold. Derek seemed enthusiastic about the trip they had hastily planned, but Owen was unsure. He hoped it was just cabin fever, that Derek wanted to get out in the world for a while to forget his troubles, but it could have been something more. His ordeal had left him a little hollow. He could see it as he watched Derek talk to his wife, even through the little glass panel on the door. Meredith was upset, teary-eyed, and he seemed nonchalant, even excited. He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and then walked away. Meredith was left looking after him, thoughtful, confused, uncertain.

And then her eyes turned outward, and she frowned at him. It hurt, to see her look at him like that once more. It was like he was telling her to news all over again. It was like they were back at the hospital, months ago, reeling from the idea that Derek was dead.

Had he not survived, after all?

Owen went in with a heavy heart, helping Cristina gather up the kids once more. She seemed upset, too, but when he asked her she didn't respond. She was deep in her own mind. She hugged Meredith, hard, for a few precious minutes, and then they separated. Meredith floated to the couch and drew a blanket over her legs, staring toward the den, where her husband had gone, and Cristina joined Owen at the door. She had a kid in each arm, one toddler and one infant, but she still managed to get out. She glanced back at her friend, and at Owen, and then headed for the car.

"Careful on the steps," he said, though his words reached her late. She was already headed down the path. He took his own advice, bundling Noah carefully in one arm and holding onto the railing. Their little snowstorm was picking up, so he rushed to the car.

Cristina was silent until they hit the road again. When she finally acknowledged him, she turned wholly in her chair, drew her legs up, and gazed at him. He was driving, so it was hard to discern what she was thinking, but he got a calm feeling. She was not sad, like Meredith, or frustrated, like Derek. She was not uncertain like he was. She was just calm.

"You're a good person," she stated.

He was a little thrown off by her tone. She sounded sweet and kind. It was a contrast to how angry with him she usually was these days. She jumped between exhaustion and frustration, and since Shane had left, it had only gotten worse. He was glad Alex was still staying with them, because his boyish bond with her helped her relax. Being away from surgery so long had really taken a toll.

But now she sounded like herself again, and a more mature version at that. Instead of joking about it, or saying it with a sarcastic edge, she meant it. She was being absolutely serious.

"Uh, thanks," he said, unsure of how he should respond.

"I mean it." Cristina glanced back, lowering her voice in an effort to keep the twins asleep. "I mean it. You're a good person. You're really _good_. I wish I was more like you."

"You were going to go out looking for him."

"Only because he make Meredith happy, and I need Meredith to be happy. But you went out there even though you don't like him."

"I like him."

"You get prickly every time he's around. But that's not the point. You went out there in the snow and got him even though you don't like him."

"Because I need you to be happy."

"No, it's because you're a good person."

"So are you." He looked over, sensing her objection to that. "What about Collin? He had a hell of a life before you stepped in. You were kind, and you loved him when nobody else did."

She took a long, thoughtful breath and rested her head on the seat, looking back at her son. He could feel her warmth for Collin emanating through the car. He slept with them every night, and she played with him every day. Her own goodness was undeniable through his eyes. She must have known that on some level.

"I love you," she said, as if coming to the end of a thought. "I know I don't act like it sometimes, but I do. Even when I hate you, I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart." He smiled, but another thought plagued him. "Oh, and… uh, Derek wants to go camping. It was sort of my idea, kind of. I don't want him to go alone so…"

Cristina hummed, shifting again in her seat. She leaned into the window and yawned. "If you're asking for permission, I don't care. I'll just go to Mer's with the kids. If it makes him stop being an idiot, go for it. I approve."

He was glad for her indifference. "Are you sure you'll be okay? It might last a week."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll just call Callie and tell her there's gonna be a baby party at Mer's. She'll flip." She stretched her arms up over her head, closing her eyes in a few little flutters, like a sleepy child. "When are you going, anyway?"

"Few weeks, when his legs are stronger. I have a feeling we'll be hiking."

"Don't get eaten by a…. bear…." She slumped a little, and the seemed to awaken, snorting. "Do me a favor and carry me into the house. And if Meredith calls, tell her I died."

"Should I get her to send flowers?"

"No. Diapers. Tell everyone to send diapers."

He smiled, and he was allowed to forget the things Derek had said in the woods. If he lingered on them long enough he could imagine a very bumpy road for them. Derek could, in the near future, lose the career he had been working on his entire life. He had already lost his job. He was in limbo, floating around, trying to find a purpose. Owen let himself focus on Cristina, on the kids in the backseat, on the icy roads and the warm house they pulled up to. He had that privilege. He had that blessing.

He wished it would last.


	83. Moments

**Moments.**

**March 18, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina yawned and stretched across the couch, a smile stuck on her face. It had been a good day, and a long day, and after weeks at home with a toddler and two babies for company, she loved it more than she had ever loved a day at work. She stared at herself in the mirror across the room, enjoying how much she had thinned out since having the twins. She looked like a real person again, instead of a Korean marshmallow. She could not say much for her eyes though. She had developed bags under them from her nasty habit of staying up late and watching bad movies with Alex. It had begun about a week ago, and taken off from there. She blamed it on him, but she had to admit she enjoyed their time together. She could take the bags, as long as they were only under her eyes. She was a little weirded out by her own satisfied smile. She usually only smiled that way after sex. Holding a scalpel again must have triggered the same response. Owen would be crushed.

Her friend joined her in the breakroom, sighing as she tossed a folder onto the table. She motioned for Cristina to move over and then slouched on the couch, pulling the bun out of her hair. She had returned to work earlier, because she had a fulltime babysitter at home. She had seemed brighter at first, but it was wearing on her. She had clashed with a belligerent patient in the emergency room that morning. Cristina had heard about it while snooping on the residents.

"I swear, if I hear the word 'bitch' one more time today, I'm gonna snap," Meredith said, shifting to relax against Cristina's shoulder. "I'm gonna snap, and I'm gonna put an air bubble in that guy's veins. I swear. He has it coming. Have you met him yet?"

Cristina laughed. She loved it when Meredith threatened to murder people. "No, haven't had the pleasure. Or the time. I've had back-to-back surgeries since I got here."

"Oh, how was the therapist? Did he ask you about your feelings? Was he bald?"

She had been forced to sit down with an incident counselor that morning before starting her shift, to make sure she was mentally sound for work. Her encounter with Warez had sparked some concerns in the board, mostly from people she refused to speak to now, and they thought it was best to have her checked out. She hated every minute of it, naturally.

"Pointless. Yes, he did. And no. But he was thinning."

Meredith looked at her sideways, smiling. "You look happy. Trust me, it'll wear off. I've only been here for a week and every time somebody says 'welcome back' I think about backhanding them. Or that could just be me."

"Nah, I've thought about it. I'm just glad I get to do surgery again. I was considering practicing on Owen for a while."

"We could always crack open Mr. Dawson. I'm sure he deserves it."

"You really hate that guy, don't you?"

Meredith sat up, her hatred stirred again. Her voice got higher, excited. "Okay, so when the ambulance unloaded him this morning he spit in the face of one of my new residents. And then he grabbed my ass – twice – when I was giving him an exam. He keeps calling me a stupid blonde bitch, but I'm not allowed to yell at him, or get off his case. Apparently he's a big donor to the hospital and Dr. Webber wants to keep him around."

"What a bitch."

"Right?"

"I could call my gang friends, get him snuffed out. You know, no witnesses."

Meredith smiled again, yawning. "So how has your day been? Other than spilling your guts to the thinning therapist."

"He wasn't a therapist; he was a counselor. And it was fine." She glanced up, seeing that her friend was asking for more than that. Cristina groaned. "What do you want me to say? Just save me the trouble and tell me."

"How is Owen?"

For once she could brighten at the mention of his name. "Good, actually. I mean, he hates therapy and he comes home grumpy, but he's himself. He's grumpy, but he's Owen. He's calm, and sweet, and the sex is great. I mean _great_."

Meredith laughed. "Well, Derek is still being weird."

"Did he try to make you jog with him again?"

"Yeah. It's gross."

"What a bitch."

Meredith sat up a little, her words speeding up again. "I mean, if I wanted to run around the house twenty times in the snow, I think I would tell somebody. Derek thinks I've got it all bottled up and that I secretly want to go jogging with him. I would slap some sense into him if he ever stopped moving."

"So he's taking the firing well?"

"Oh, no. He's beyond pissed. But he acts all happy about it. He's a closet rage-monster. He's a jogging, closeted rage-monster. And he smiles all the time. All day, every day. He just smiles."

"I think… should we call someone?"

Meredith sunk down into the cushions, turning to stare out the half-opened blinds. "It's that stupid camping trip. He thinks he's in some kind of competition with Owen to see who can be the manliest man. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying the extra energy in bed, but seriously, I think he's a little obsessed with Owen."

"It goes both ways. Owen isn't jogging around the house or anything but he's ordering camping equipment and telling Collin bedtime stories about bears and porridge."

"Should we tell them they can't play together anymore?"

Cristina grinned. "Love finds a way, Mer."

"You know he got a job offer at the university. He could teach medical students."

"Is he gonna take it?"

"He hasn't said. He just… he seemed a little sad when he got the call, but I guess he's considering it. I think it would be good for him."

Silence.

"Oh, oh, did you hear about April?"

Cristina had gotten that news only hours ago. One of her coworkers, and someone she grudgingly called a friend – _occasionally_ – was expecting a child with her surprise husband, Jackson. He was a surprise husband because she had left her fiancée at the alter to run off with him, and the two of them had been together ever since. She had expected them to have kids, but not so soon. She still thought of Kepner as a little kid because she still acted like one. Was she really ready for a baby?

"I heard," Cristina responded, her tone even. She wanted to keep her opinion out of it. "Did you hear about that little girl who ate all the bears' porridge?"

"You should be happy for them."

"I am. On the inside."

"Well I'm happy for them. This is the motherly me, the me who comes out of tragedy striding. I'm happy for April. And I'm gonna buy them baby clothes."

"Buy them diapers. Everybody needs diapers."

Meredith got up and retrieved her folder from the table. When she returned to the couch she opened it across her lap, gazing down at it, pretending to read. "I also heard Alex was still staying with you."

For a while Cristina had wondered if Meredith and Alex would ever get along again. Meredith was still freaked out by the crush he'd had on her, and Alex was still sore from the death of a parent. They weren't really mad at each other anymore, but neither was willing to make the final step to reuniting. It was like watching a soap opera acted out in real life.

"Yeah. He's planning to move back in with Jo, actually. Soon. He talked to her some yesterday."

Meredith pursed her lips, feigning nonchalance. "How is he?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

She glanced up, frowning. "Maybe I will. Sometime."

"Sure. You two are so sad. You're like teenage girls. Just make up already."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes it is. You've just been avoiding it so long that you can't stop." Cristina snatched the folder, flipping through it. It was a medical dossier of Mr. Dawson. "So this guy… swallowed a safety pin? Tell him to swallow a magnet and be done with it."

Meredith took the folder back. "Oh, no, we couldn't possibly discharge him. He's a VIP after all. We have to make sure his safety pin doesn't open and tear up his precious intestines."

Cristina was quiet for a little while, and then a thought struck her.

"Do you think our husbands will get eaten by a bear in the woods?"

"Considering our history that's very possible."

"So should I make Owen buy mace?"

"We could put them in bubbles." Meredith closed the folder, slinging it back at the table. "Big old plastic bubbles. But then they'd get carried away be pelicans or something."

"You really hate pelicans."

"I don't… hate pelicans."

"You sent me a text last week saying how annoying pelicans are. We don't even have pelicans here." Cristina turned sideways and laid across the couch, putting her feet over Meredith's lap. "I think Derek's jogging is getting to you. You're losing it."

Meredith sighed again, heavier this time. "Maybe. I'm sitting inside eating donuts and he's outside getting healthy and stuff." She giggled a little to herself. "You know I threw one out the window, perfect timing, hit him right in the head."

"Was it powdered?"

She popped her lips. "Yep."

"Good girl. Good instincts."

Cristina stared at the ceiling, grateful she could have this time with Meredith, even though it was brief. She needed it after weeks of being the emotional support for Owen, and the mother to her children. She needed some time to just be a friend, with no expectations. It was nice to just sit there and exist. She imagined Meredith felt the same way.

"Pelicans are just so ugly and loud. And yeah, we _do_ have them."

Cristina laughed, momentarily taken by how silly that statement was. Meredith joined in, and the two of them went on laughing as more attendings entered the lounge. They must have looked insane, but neither of them heeded the glances they got. As far as Cristina was concerned, she was here alone with Meredith, and the two of them ruled the world.


	84. Bitter

**Bitter.**

**April 3, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

It was nearly dawn, but not quite close enough to illuminate the world. He had to use a flashlight to get to the edge of the cliff, where the guardrails broke off jaggedly and the rocks dropped down into a colossal ravine, but when his feet were positioned just on the edge, just close enough to feel the updraft from below, he cut the light off. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest, drifting for a moment as his memories took him. His father had brought him out here before, to this very ledge, decades ago. It had changed some since then, been chipped away a little by the elements, but it still smelled the same. And in the precious new light, from the sun settled behind the mountains, he could make out the trees below. It was a dark army, soldiers erect, missiles on black wings soaring between them. It was easily one of the most beautiful views he had ever had the honor to take in, even though it was dark and hazy. Recent storms had produced a thick fog. Everything was wet and rich, slippery underfoot, thick in the air. He was overwhelmed by it, happy for it, and relaxed, and his misgivings about this trip melted away. It was the right thing to do.

His companion came to his side, his flashlight bobbing across the rocky ground. Behind him their vehicle sat among half a dozen others in a little long-term parking lot, and he had a hiking pack strapped to his back. He looked awake and alert, a contrast to the mopey face he had given Owen as he got into the car that morning. Breathing the mountain air brought them both to life.

"Ready to head down?" Derek wondered, flicking his flashlight toward the trail, which set a steep path down the mountainside. It led into the valley, and then it branched throughout the park. Owen had signed them up for a camping sight not far from a bend in the river, hoping the water would provide them with good hunting grounds. Derek had insisted they would procure their own food, but Owen had packed some in case that plan fell through.

He nodded to his question, cutting his flashlight back on and heading for the little wooden sign. He glanced at it as he passed, grimacing at the foreboding trail length. Sixteen miles to the fork. Owen had proposed breaking it up into two or three days to maintain their stamina, but Derek wanted to go straight for the fork. Owen hoped he would change his mind when they had a few miles behind them. He had no interest in having a heart attack in the woods, and he really didn't want to drag Derek back when his legs gave out on him.

It was an unforgiving walk, but it was made better as memories of his youth flooded through his mind. Every old stump had a moment frozen within it. He could recall looking at photos of this place, looking at himself as a baby being held above the cliff like he was being presented to his kingdom. His father had loved it here, and so Owen loved it. He had a hard time feeling the cold, and the fog settling on his face, when his thoughts were so warm. Derek seemed to be on the same page. He smiled as he walked, breathing deeply, right into the bottoms of his lungs. He walked strongly despite his recent recovery, showing off the preparation he had done for this trip. It was something he had looked forward to. It gave him a goal to reach, so he didn't just sit around the house and feel sorry for himself anymore. Taking on the rough inclines and slippery trails brought the fire back into the former surgeon.

"Did I tell you I got that job?" Derek wondered, panting as he turned to talk to Owen. He almost slipped down the trail, but Owen grabbed his backpack and held him steady. "Oh, thanks. Anyway, I did an interview over the phone. They don't even need to see me. Apparently my reputation precedes me. They gave me an office on campus and everything."

Owen laughed. Meredith had filled him in on this ahead of time, threatening his life if he didn't act super stoked about the new job. But he was happy for Derek. He didn't have to pretend.

"Have they told you what you'll be teaching yet?"

"Oh, they're still making the schedules for next semester. It'll be soon." Derek grabbed a small tree and paused, staring out into the woods. "We should go off-trail. It might be smoother walking."

"Or we could stay _on_ trail, and actually get to the camp on schedule," Owen offered.

"Live a little, Hunt." Derek started walking into the trees, cocking his shoulders like he had suddenly been transported into an Indiana Jones movie. "We'll be headed in the same direction, only a little more direct. I saw the map of this trail – it twists and turns all the way to the fork."

"It twists and turns around dangerous drop-offs and valleys," Owen objected, pursuing him. He was reluctant to lose sight of the trail in the darkness, but he couldn't let Derek wander off on his own. He would get skinned if he went home without him. "Shepherd, come on. What are you, sixteen? Watch your step."

Derek turned, stopping dead in his tracks, a surprised sort of look on his face. "No, I'm not sixteen, but I'm also not sleeping anymore. I woke up. I refuse to go through life being afraid of everything. I want to do this… so I'm doing it. End of story."

Owen sighed. "I'm really hating this can-do attitude of yours."

Derek turned and continued, throwing a hand up. "Get used to it. This is the new me."

"What was wrong with the old you?"

"He was too grown up."

"And now he's _sixteen_ again," Owen muttered, following again.

"I heard that!"

"Good!"

Hours passed in the bitter cold. It started raining around dawn, and the two men went on with hunched shoulders, throwing their hoods up. Owen hated to limit his scope of vision, but he also hated the way the rain slipped down his coat, chilling his whole body. When the fog became too dense, the two of them walked closer together to avoid losing track of one another. Owen gave up on complaining about their change of course, preferring to keep an eye out for a sudden drop in the ground. It was almost noon before he gave up and kept his head down.

When the rain stopped, so did they. Owen sat on a fallen log, waving Derek off when he tried to join him. "No. Get your own log."

"Really?" Derek backed up, sitting on a shorter, slimier log nearby. "Real mature."

"It's your fault we don't have a nice bench to sit on. The trail has benches."

"If you miss the trail so much, why don't you go back to it?"

"Because we're miles from it now," Owen snapped. He groaned, sloshing his hand through his wet hair. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I used to be an avid outdoorsman."

"I'm sure you were."

Derek stood up, stretching. "If I'm right about this, the trail should be about two miles north. So we should make this last stretch and then set up camp."

Owen could start listing the things he would rather do, but nothing would phase Derek. He was glad the man was so happy and carefree, but there were limits. He had a satellite phone in his pocket for emergencies, and enough food to keep them fat and happy until someone came to rescue them, should the worst happen, but he was still cautious. He didn't like the woods when they were like this – slick, dark, and moody. Every step could be a slippery slope.

He followed Derek for over an hour, wondering how far off the beaten path they had wandered. He hoped the other man would realize his mistake and own up to it, but he seemed determined to find the imaginary trail to the north. Owen kept it up, listening to Derek monologue about distances and the position of the sun – even though it was impossibly cloudy out. Eventually his friend would give up. It was only a matter of time.

But time seemed to be working against them.

Derek turned, about to say something, but just as he did so Owen took a half-step forward and slipped. He went down, taking his friend's legs out with him, and the path they had been traveling disappeared. They crashed through the trees, down a harsh slope, and rolled until Owen was forced to close his eyes and huddle into a ball to keep himself from losing a limb.

Just when he thought they would never stop, he hit a pool of water and went deep under it. Mud rose up all around him. His pack weighed him down to the bottom.

His eyes popped open. He could see the sun above, obscured by the waves in the water. He unhooked his pack and swam up with it, groping at the shore. Derek was there. He grabbed Owen by the coat and pulled him out, but sat back, groaning and holding onto his ankle. Owen tried to get up, but his leg ached, and he had a gash in his arm. He dragged his pack up the rest of the way and leaned against it, trying to assess his injuries.

"I think I broke my ankle," Derek told him, half-smiling as he said it. "Maybe we should have stuck to the path."

"I'm gonna break your other ankle," Owen threatened. He twisted his arm, grimacing at the muddy cut. "I just got a few scratches. But I think I stretched a muscle in my leg." He ran his hand along his shin, flinching when it burned like fire. "Make that a few muscles."

Silence.

Owen pulled out his satellite phone, dumping the water from it. Derek stared at him, wide-eyed, and Owen considered letting him squirm. But he didn't. "It's okay. It's waterproof. I'll send out an SOS and they'll track our signal."

"So I guess we're making camp here, then."

"We just fell down a ravine, into a river, and that's all you have to say? I guess we're making camp here? You're the reason we're down here."

Derek frowned. "You followed me."

"Because I thought you were going to get yourself killed. Case in point."

Derek considered those words, but never lost his upbeat demeanor. It was maddening. He started unloading his pack, yanking out the tent and fiddling with it. Every time his ankle moved he hissed in pain and laid back for a moment. Owen sent out the signal and then settled in to watch him. He offered no assistance, too miffed about their situation to pity him.

It was easy to measure the passage of time when his leg was throbbing every second. He never forgot himself. He laid his pack out and used it as a pillow, staring at the boggy sky, and listened to the progression of Derek's emotions. He went from carefree to frustrated, and then from frustrated to sad. He mimicked Owen's position and sighed, gazing up at the sky as well. Owen was glad his strange joy was gone, but without it the situation seemed so much more dismal.

"We should've stayed on the path," Derek murmured.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I saw adventure and I equated it with…"

"It's okay. I know what trauma can do to people."

"But it's been so long."

"It's only been four months." Owen glanced at him. "Four months isn't enough time to heal from something like that. I don't think there's enough time in the world."

"It's plenty of time. I should be… I should be myself again. But I can't make myself think before I do anything. It's like I'm always running out of time, like every second could be… the last one."

Owen was quiet for a moment, but he couldn't keep a thought to himself.

"When I came back from the war, I didn't try to reconnect with any of the people I used to know. I was here for _months_, and I created a whole new life instead of going back to my old one. I had irrational fears about it – about living as the person I was – so I tried to avoid it." He sat up, throwing his hood up to protect him from the drizzling rain. "You can't just pretend to be this new person, Shepherd. You have to be brave enough to be yourself again."

"So I guess therapy is working out, then."

"This is serious," Owen said. "Look where we are. When you went off that trail you were putting out a challenge to the world, and look what happened. Now maybe that was the old you, before you came to Seattle – you know, avid outdoorsman Derek – but this is the man who's married, who has children to take care of."

Derek scowled for a moment, and then it sunk into a frown. He looked away. "That's not what I was trying to do."

"Then what were you trying to do? Because I would love to know. And we have all the time in the world to talk about it. What were you _trying to do_, Shepherd?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me when you find out. Otherwise, just… sit there and think about what you've done."

"I can't believe you just said that to me."

"I can't believe you got me into this!" Owen replied.

Derek twisted his lips. "Do you think this ravine has Wi-Fi?"

"Shepherd, I mean it. Leave me alone."

"Stop pouting. You wanted this trip, too."

Owen was silent.

"How long do you think it'll take for them to find us?"

"I would give it until morning."

"And then?"

Owen shrugged. "And then I would worry, because I'm considering leaving you down here."


	85. Kindred

**A/N: Sorry for the long absence guys! I am working on a lot of school stuff and I just started a new job, so everything is crazy. The story is most certainly not over. I have another storyline mapped out already so have no fear. I may vanish occasionally but I come back. I hope you enjoy a little bantering between our leading men as my apology!**

**Kindred.**

**April 3, 2017.**

**Washington State.**

"Come on. You're being unreasonable."

"Oh, _I'm_ being unreasonable?"

"When are you going to drop the river thing?"

"I don't know, Shepherd – maybe when we're not stranded. Until then I think it's pretty much my right to hold onto the 'river thing.'"

"I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."

"It's only drizzling."

"Says the guy with the umbrella! Just scooch over here and we'll share it."

"Not happening. You got us into this, _you_ get rained on."

"I'll just scooch over there, then."

"Stop that! You didn't _earn_ this umbrella."

"What is that supposed to mean? I make one mistake-"

Owen scoffed.

"Okay, I make one big mistake, so your answer is hypothermia?"

"It's not even that cold out. Stop being dramatic. I thought you wanted the adventure. Why don't you crawl to the other side of the beach and make yourself a fire?"

Derek wiggled his leg, wincing. "I would, but my ankle is sort of floppy."

Owen sighed, doing everything he could to forget his irritation with the man lying beside him in the sand. He was just far enough away to fall out of the protection of the umbrella, his feet barely out of the water, and both of them rested their heads on their own backpacks. Owen had to strain to see his ankle, and he had to agree that the best term to describe it was 'floppy.' His own leg was going through a series of aches and cramps, but he suffered in silence.

He settled back onto his bag, settling the umbrella against his arm and shutting his eyes. It was getting late out. He was meant to spend a few days out here with Derek, at the very least, but he was ready to go home. He was ready to hold his kids again.

"Have you ever felt like a burden to Cristina?"

Owen rolled his eyes, but answered anyway. He withheld his frustration again. "Yes. Plenty of times. I was a mess when we met."

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

He really didn't want to hear that. Owen shifted his bag a little, but Derek was looking away. His voice was sad and wistful, so much so that it raised red flags. "No. Never."

"I thought about it once. Before the twins. I was in the mountains… Meredith was pregnant. I had some selfish thoughts about just… running away from everything. And then I was in the coma, and time just jumped forward, and every second since I woke up I've regretted having those thoughts. It was like I asked for this to happen."

Owen was silent.

"I would never go anywhere. You know that. I love my kids. But I still feel guilty, like I'm hiding something from Meredith. I know it's dumb-"

"It is."

"I thought you were being supportive."

"We never agreed on that." Owen glanced back, glad to see Derek smiling. "You were being dumb. It's okay. Men do it sometimes. It's in our nature."

"What about the river thing, then?"

"No, that was you being _stupid_. Big difference. Less forgivable."

"Gives you an excuse to go home early."

"Yeah, Shepherd, I wish all my excuses came with severe leg cramps."

Derek chuckled. "We can't all be gifted."

For a while they were both silent. Derek shut his eyes and turned his face into the rain, and Owen tipped his umbrella back and forth, glancing at the sky, and then blocking out the water. He wished he could see the stars, but he settled for the gentle gushing of the river beside them, and the whispers of animals in the woods. It was peaceful. He could almost forget his aching leg, and the stinging cuts in his arms. He let his mind wander.

"Stiffened up, finally."

Owen sat up a little, disturbed by those words. "What is?"

"My ankle. No more floppy. Might not be broken after all."

"Good for you."

"Still grumpy, huh?"

Owen shrugged.

"You know what you need? A rousing kumbaya."

"If you start, I'll beat you to death with this umbrella."

"Kumbayaaaaah my lord-"

Owen groaned. "Just go to sleep. Rescue will be here in the morning."

Derek laughed, obviously amused by his grumpiness. He sat up, rubbing his ankle. "I think I'll go with… baseball. Not quite softball, but we might be headed in that direction."

"Good. You can walk. Why don't you take a nice long stroll around the river?"

Derek settled again, sighing. "Of all the people to get stranded with-"

"I might actually strangle you."

"Do you ever think about squirrels?"

Owen sat up, ignoring the sharp pinch in his leg to whack the other man's backpack. "_Shepherd_. You have four kids and a wife. You can't tell me you don't get enough attention at home. Whatever you have to say, just say it. Say it so we can go to sleep."

Derek twisted his lips, looking up briefly, and then gazing into the darkness beyond the river. "I was waiting for you to say something wise about recovery."

"_Why_?"

"Either that, or hit me. Whichever came first."

Owen cocked an eyebrow, uncertain. "You want me to hit you?"

"Someone should," Derek sulked. "I've been acting like a man-child for weeks. Meredith won't yell at me because she's worried. I need somebody to… just punch me one time."

"There are so many reasons that I won't," Owen grunted, scooting away from him a bit.

"Come on. You know you want to. _I_ know you want to."

"Contrary to what people think when they encounter a vet, I don't want to go around hitting everyone who annoys me."

"That's not why-" Derek sat up, holding one hand up, negotiating. "You happen to be my friend. One of my only male friends. And I trust you. If I need someone to set me straight, I can count on you to do it. I know we… had our differences… but I need you now."

"To hit you?"

"Yes. In the jaw."

Owen laughed. "The last thing you need is another head injury. Lay down."

"I swear, I'll sing every camping song I can think of."

"Go ahead if it makes you feel better."

"Why won't you do it?"

Owen fluffed up his bag and slid sideways, resting his head on it and massaging his injured leg with one hand. He was facing the water now, gladly surrounded by the sounds of flowing water. "Because you're already hurt, and getting hit again won't make it stop."

"At least call me some names."

"You're an asshole. Go to bed."

"You're a good friend, Hunt. _Owen_."

He listened as his friend settled down, considering those words. He didn't feel like a good friend. He felt like he was negotiating with a crazy person. But Derek seemed better for it. He seemed calmer. Perhaps their trip had been therapeutic after all.

"You know, summer classes start soon."

Owen rolled his eyes. "I thought we were going to sleep."

"Summer classes are starting, and I have a class. It'll be small, I think, but I get to teach them about the human brain. I get to pretend I'm wise."

"If you can walk by then."

"Oh, I'll be able to walk. Just because I can't do surgery doesn't mean my life is over. I have a new generation of surgeons to teach. Who knows, maybe some of my students will end up at the hospital, where Meredith can continue where I left off."

"Dream big," Owen muttered.

It went silent.

He heard Derek move around a few times, leaning to rub his ankle, and then shifting to his back to watch the stars, but soon the former surgeon was asleep. Owen was exhausted, but even the sounds of the river could not soothe him. He didn't dislike the woods, but he preferred the sound of sleeping babies, and the gentle snoring of his wife beside him.

He let his mind wander freely through the night, imagining Derek wearing a tie and a vest as he taught a class of eager medical students.

His phone rang right before dawn.

He sat up, confused, pulling his drenched smartphone out of his pocket. It dripped, and remained silent. It was his satellite phone. He deployed the antenna and answered, puzzled.

"Uh, hello?"

"Owen, hi. Cristina gave me the number."

He couldn't believe it. He smiled. "Teddy?"

"Listen, we have to skip the small talk. I missed you. How's life. All that. I need to ask you something, and I need an answer now. I sort of… There's a situation in Germany."

"A situation? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's… wrong. Something just fell through."

"Teddy."

"Right. Yeah. The question. I'm not sure how to phrase it…"

"Just ask me."

"Will you come to Germany for a year to direct MEDCOM?"


	86. Crossroads

**Crossroads.**

**April 4, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"I think we should consider therapy for you two, together."

Cristina sat back on his leg, tilting her head to get a better look at his hair. He tried to sit up and she bopped him in the forehead, pressing until his head was back under the water. Dirt swirled around the drain and a tiny baby leaf pursued it.

"I think he got over his recklessness," Owen responded. He rubbed the leg she wasn't sitting on, cringing. "Only took me a little agony."

"Oh, stop being a baby." Cristina flicked a black speck out of his chest hair. "I looked at your stupid leg. It's fine. Derek got it much worse. His ankle is twisted all to hell. Callie actually used the word 'floppy' to describe it."

"I think she borrowed that from him."

Cristina went in for round two, standing to scrub his hair. "How did you even get twigs in here? Will I find a whole tree if I keep looking?"

"I can do that myself."

"You can't stand long enough to shower."

"I could just reach back-"

"Shh. Just accept it."

He smiled. "I think you've been with the kids too much."

"Why?"

"You're mothering me."

She withdrew, laughing. "Oh. Whoops. You do that. I'll go see why Collin is being quiet."

She slid off of his lap, pausing to kiss him before leaving the room. He was right about her overdosing on the mothering. She had been caring obsessively for the kids for a while. But she enjoyed it. She thought of them growing up as her little hell spawn and it got a lot easier to put up with their crying. One day she would be helping them study for their boards, and then, world domination. It was almost guaranteed.

Collin was up to no good. He had stolen her brushes from her bathroom and he was lining them up along the edge of his bed. When he saw her he glanced up, grinned, and continued.

"I like it better when I catch Owen doing something bad," Cristina told him, going to sit on the bed. She laid across it, sighing. "At least he looks guilty."

Collin grabbed one of his contraband toys and held it up. "Brush!"

"Right. Good job. Brush."

He turned it over and ran it through his curly blonde hair. "Collin brush."

"Collin brush," she agreed.

"Mommy brush?"

Cristina took the offered brush and ran it through her hair, snorting when it got caught halfway down. "Mommy needs to brush more. Mommy looks like a hobo."

"I think you look great."

She smiled at the door, where Owen hovered. He looked a little beaten up from his ravine therapy with Derek and she wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him for the rest of the night, but the hospital had called shortly after his return. She had been summoned. "Do you think I could just skip work tonight? I could pretend I was traumatized by your accident."

"No. I think you should go. You've been cooped up."

"Three days off does not constitute 'cooped up.'"

"What about the hobo hair?"

She smirked, pressing it down with both hands. She could care less about the mess so long as it all stayed black. She wasn't read to deal with gray yet. "Maybe you have a point. I choose not to acknowledge it." She spread out again, imitating a starfish. "Have you talked to Derek?"

"You mean since I saw him two hours ago? No."

Cristina cocked an eyebrow, amused. Her husband was not a fan of the former neurosurgeon at the moment. She joined him in the doorway and pressed a quick kiss to his neck, keeping a careful eye on the tremor in his leg. "I thought you guys did some serious bonding."

"Yes, I miss him with every fiber of my being."

She looked up, kissing his chin. "Little heavier on the sarcasm."

"I considered killing him a few times. He sung Journey all morning."

Cristina ran one hand down the side of his face, looking into and away from his eyes. She had a sudden desire to be very, very close to him. "Poor thing."

He smiled, sensing her mood. "I thought I would die out there. It was very frightening."

"Frightening," she repeated, kissing his cheek.

"I barely slept. It was hard, without you there."

"Hard," she agreed, doing everything she could to make it sound dirty.

He lost his enthusiasm suddenly and said, "There was something I needed to talk to you about. I got a phone call… from Teddy."

"I know." She drew away, frowning. He made it sound like such a secret. "I gave her the number of your satellite phone. She uses them, too. Apparently they're big in the military."

"Uh, yeah. She wanted to talk to me about-"

"You need to sit down." Cristina grabbed his arm, leading him to the couch and helping him sink into the cushion. He was starting to wobble on that leg. She straddled his lap again, flattening both hands on his chest. She toyed with his hair again. "Okay. Go on."

He looked uncertain. "Er, she said she got some kind of government grant."

"Yep." Cristina slid her hands up to his neck. "She told me." Her former mentor was going to travel the world for twelve months, documenting cardiothoracic conditions and developing new surgeries and technology for the US government. Her work would break down genetic barriers that no one had even glanced at – it was beyond revolutionary. If she did everything she planned to do, she would go down in the record books. Cristina was insanely jealous, but also proud.

Owen cleared his throat, noting the stars in her eyes. "So you know what she asked me?"

"I do." Teddy had made her intentions very clear. Cristina had not stopped thinking about it since the call had ended.

Owen narrowed his eyes like he was suspicious of her tone. "She wants me to go to Germany and run MEDCOM for a year, starting this August."

Cristina swallowed. "What did you say?"

"I told her I would think about it. It would be… a dream come true."

Cristina had thought a lot about dreams while she waited for a helicopter to deliver the boys to the hospital that morning. She had also thought a lot about Owen. She saw a beautiful spark in his eyes, dampened by his hesitation. She could tell how badly he wanted this, but he expected her to shoot it down. He expected it, and it would have been reasonable in their situation to give little thought to such a crazy idea, but Cristina wanted something else. She wanted to give him this – one of his dreams. It could have been her experiences with Derek and his sadness, or her worry that they would sink into some kind of rut and spend their lives wastefully.

It could have been the caffeine from several mugs of coffee.

Still, she smiled at him. She laid against his shoulder and snuggled close. "Say yes."

He withdrew a little, trying to get a look at her face. His hand settled on her back. He stiffened under her, drawing in a surprised breath. "What?"

"Call her, and tell her yes."

He was silent briefly, and then he rubbed her back like he was trying to convince her to come back to reality. "What about Meredith? What about the kids?"

"Do you have any idea what this would do for your career?"

"I'm not sure we're on the same page. I'm talking about moving to _Germany_. For a year."

"Owen, I lived in Switzerland. I think I can handle Germany."

"That's not what I meant."

"If you want my opinion, that's it. We should do it. _You_ should do it."

"Did I fall down that ravine and get trapped in a crazy alternate universe?"

Cristina took a deep breath, trying to settle the knots in her belly. She sat up a little and pressed a kiss to his forehead, watching his eyes, appreciating the returning sparkle. "If you want to take the time to think about it, you should. But you already have my answer."

"I want _you_ to take the time to think about it."

"I have."

Owen seemed somewhere between flabbergasted and concerned. "How are you onboard with this? I thought you would be pissed I even mentioned it."

"It would only be a year, and the kids are still little. We don't have to worry about school. They won't even remember it when they're older."

"Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

"I want you to… to have things that you want. You said it would be a dream come true. So I want you to have it. You deserve it."

"But I want you to have what you want, too. Won't you miss Meredith?"

"Of course I will, but this doesn't mean I'll never see her again. It's a _year_ out of what? The next fifty?"

"Honestly I was planning for a fight, so I have no idea what to say."

"Just say that you'll think about it." Cristina pressed a kiss to his cheek and got up, taking a steadying breath on her way to the bedroom. "And don't forget to do Collin's range of motion before you put him to bed!"

She almost made it to the bathroom, but the mirror perched on the dresser caught her attention. She stopped in front of it and stared at herself, wondering what other life changing decisions she could commit to before the night was over.

She was stricken by how old she looked.

She looked tired. She had bags under her eyes. Suddenly it seemed that she had gone years without really seeing herself, and now she wondered if this was the person she had originally set out to become – was it even the person she _wanted_ to be?

When she was younger her list of priorities was a lot shorter, but it had grown with her. Now a few things came to mind, and she could not live without any of them. Owen. Her kids. Her friends. Her career. She had fallen for all of the cliché things she had vowed to avoid in college. She loved the kids, and she loved Owen, but there was a new sort of stagnation settling on her mind. Perhaps it was all her time away from surgery. Perhaps it was something more serious.

And now, strangely, she had more to ache for. She didn't just want to progress her career, but she longed to fill the holes that had been poked in her over the years. She wanted Phyllis back. She may have been crazy, but something about her was familiar. She wanted Shane back so much that she had dreamt of him more than once – long, innocuous dreams of lying beside him and getting a pep talk. She had never imagined she would miss something so silly.

Leaving Washington would help. She could break out of this mold. She had only been back for a little while, but the solution had to be to leave. Why else would this crisis in Germany come up?

It was fate. Fate was calling them away.


	87. Familiar

**Familiar.**

**April 5, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

She should have been at home. Her phone buzzed with the occasional text from her concerned husband. Other attendings occasionally gave her strange looks, either bothered by her glaring or her relaxed position on the couch. Sometimes she heard the intercom going nuts when the door opened, but as soon as it shut she was allowed to sink fully into her thoughts with the comfort of a close friend and a familiar room. She was not bothered by the others, but she found herself wondering if they saw the same person she had seen in the mirror last night. How long had she looked so tired? Was it because of the twins, or was it the prospect of moving away?

Cristina stirred when the clock struck nine. She had been watching it for a while. Meredith grunted, brought out of a brief nap, and started scratching the top of the couch with her nails. Both of them were lying with their feet over the opposing armrests, their heads in the center. It was a new, spacious piece of furniture, a favorite among the attendings, but the two of them managed to take up the whole thing. Cristina was willing to kill for this spot if anyone challenged her reign.

But it was quiet in the lounge. Something tragic must have happened as they left their shifts because most of the attendings were darting around like angry bees outside. Cristina could make out the flashing of scrubs through the broad, mesh-crossed windows above her, but she had no interest – or, rather, she wasn't allowed to have an interest. She had been banned from working double shifts until she had been back to work for at least three months. It was a policy put in place to keep the hospital from forcing new mothers or fathers to abandon their spawn. Cristina was not fond of it. She would have hopped up and joined the action if she knew Webber was not actively watching out for her. He was doing the same thing to Meredith. They were being baby-blocked.

"You know, this stinks," Cristina announced, reaching up to tap her friend on the shoulder. She tapped the window above them. "Look at them go! We would be great out there. But _no_, stupid Doctor Mahogany gets all of my cases."

"His name is Doctor Brown. Where do you keep getting mahogany?"

Cristina shrugged. "Still. I feel useless."

"We could always go home to our husbands."

Both of them were silent for a moment, and then Cristina sighed. "I guess Webber means well. But I still hate his face right now. Look what he's reduced us to."

"Sulking in the lounge, lamenting the good old days."

"Exactly."

Meredith snorted, snuggling further into the couch. "I smell like burritos. Do you wanna know why I smell like burritos? I'll tell you anyway. I did a full cavity search – very literally – on a man who ate five burritos. One of them had a razor blade in it, and since my lovely patient hates chewing, he swallowed it. It tore through his esophagus, made it into his stomach, and put a billion tiny little holes in it. It could have left the stomach and rested harmlessly among the relatively stagnant organs nearby, but it took a ride in his intestines."

Cristina winced. "Did he live?"

"He was exceedingly lucky. So I smell like burritos, but this guy survived a very vengeful razorblade. I'm not sure it that makes today a good day or a bad day."

"Do you want to go home?"

Meredith blew a heavy breath through her nose. "No."

"Me neither."

"Derek is great. I love him. I _love_ him. But he is driving me crazy. If he reads me one more chapter from his stupid neuroscience book I will actually stab him."

"I would help you hide the body."

"I know." Meredith shifted to look at her, twisting her lips. "Have you thought about Germany?"

"I have."

"I asked you a question earlier."

_Is this for you, or for Owen? You need to think about yourself, Cristina. I love you too much to let you give your whole life to him. You deserve to be happy, too._

"I know, I know." Cristina pressed her fists into her eyes, yawning and groaning at the same time. "I want to do this. I want this for him, so it's partially for me."

"Nope. Doesn't work like that."

"How does it work, then?"

"What are you going to do in Germany, Cristina?"

"Find a hospital. Become a mob doctor. Something like that."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. Well, not the mob thing. But I could probably find a job there. My specialty is in high demand all over the world and I have stellar credentials."

Meredith sat up and rested her feet on the floor, stretching against the back of the couch. "Is that what you want? Where would you guys live? How often would Owen be home? What about your kids?"

"I could just run away. I think I could survive in the wild."

Meredith dropped some of her seriousness, smiling. "No. No running away. We gave that up when we had kids."

"What if I took them with me? We could be a jungle family."

"I thought you _wanted_ to do this."

"I do. I just don't want to have this conversation with Owen. I want to avoid it."

"You could have your lips sewn shut. No more conversations."

"Or, or, stay with me, I could leave and have a jungle family."

"Tell me how you really feel."

"I think Germany would be… good for him. Owen used to talk about MEDCOM like it was the pinnacle of achievement in the military. You should have seen him glow when he told me what Teddy wanted… I want him to stay happy."

"Is this about his… you know, issues?"

Cristina shrugged. "No. Maybe. I think this place is a sort of trigger for him. Or I might be a trigger. Or maybe Derek's issues are a trigger. No offense."

"Eh."

"I just want him to be happy, and stay happy, you know? And so what if we're in Germany? The kids will still be little when we come back. Collin will be, what, three and a half?"

"Half?"

"It starts in August. It would be an August to August commitment."

"Oh." Meredith twiddled her fingers, thoughtful. "You know I would miss you, but you're right. It's only a year. I mean, what are we, eight? You would be able to visit, right?"

"Of course. And I bet the military has great daycare. I think we would live on a base."

"You would be closer to Shane. You said you miss him."

"I said I miss having an underling who actually knows what I want them to do. I didn't say I missed him… specifically."

"But you do."

Cristina shrugged.

"If you want this – if you _really_ want this – I support you. You know I do. I just want to make sure you're doing this for both of you, not just for Owen."

"If it makes him happy, I can handle it. I can handle anything." Cristina hopped up, stretched, and retrieved her coat from her locker. "And maybe Teddy will let me study some of the life-changing discoveries she makes. I would definitely get on my knees and beg."

Meredith met her at the door and walked out with her, shrugging on her own coat. "So I take it you have faith in this project of hers."

"Oh, yeah. I plan to live vicariously through her."

"You could supplant her."

"Great idea. It's always good to have goals."

Once they cleared the surgery wing, the hospital was quiet. Cristina followed her friend, who seemed to be avoiding the exit. She sent a quick text to Owen explaining an imaginary crisis she had been pulled into and bought herself some more time. Her feet ached and her mind swelled with thoughts, but she stayed with Meredith, preferring the comfort of a friend for all the madness.

She ended up in an observation room, watching medical students panic as they were berated by a lifelike dummy. It was bleeding in several places and throwing its arms around dramatically.

"I thought this would make you feel better," Meredith said, directing her to a chair. She rolled another one over and flopped into it, smiling. "We have students now. We are officially hosting clinicals. I think the hospital is scoping them out for the surgical internships."

Cristina relaxed into her chair, unable to help a smile when one of them got whacked. "Who set the dummy on 'psycho'?"

"I think that was Callie. I saw her stalking them earlier."

"Just like a hungry lion, huh?"

Meredith nodded, twirling around in her chair. "Have you talked to her today?"

"Nope."

"They're thinking about adopting."

Cristina stared at her, trying to gauge her seriousness. "What? Really? When?"

"Well they just decided today. I think they're going down to talk to some agencies today." Meredith was glowing, probably recalling the day she had adopted her first child, Zola.

"Good for them." Cristina felt a warm glow inside for the first time that day. She knew the two surgeons were great parents. Sofia was a bright little girl. Having another child had been a dream of theirs for years. Slowly, the pack of children spawned by her closest friends was growing. Soon they would plot world domination. It was inevitable.

She thought about babies while she watched the medical students, allowing herself to relax at the thought of her friends adopting a child. Her conversation with Owen loomed and she decided how she would talk to him. She had to sound a little less insane when she insisted they move to another continent. She had to sound sure of herself, even if she was uncertain.

She almost got up to leave, beginning to feel the familiar ache of longing for her kids, but one of the medical students caught her eye. She stared at the girl for the longest time before she realized where she had seen her before.

"She was at the crash."

Meredith looked up. She was halfway through shoving a softball-sized cookie into her mouth. It hung out like a cartoon cigarette. "Huh?"

"That girl." Cristina pointed her out. "Mousy, in the corner."

Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Oh. Wow. She was at the police station. She gave the police a sketch… I can't remember her name. She drew a really good picture of you, though."

Cristina was fixated on her face. She could remember the moment clearly, the first time she had seen her. She was standing among a crowd, clutching a medical textbook, staring at a man who had been partially crushed by the car that flew through a café window. She looked almost the same. It gave Cristina a chill, bringing back the horrible events that had followed their encounter.

"Are you going to go talk to her?"

"No… No. I think I should go home." Cristina stood, her eyes stuck to the student for a moment longer. "Conversations to be had and such."

"Are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah. If you plan on hanging around, hunt down Callie and tell her I said congratulations about the adoption thing. If she wants a Swiss baby, I have contacts."

Meredith smiled. "See ya."

Cristina waved as she left, her stomach rumbling with unwanted memories. She tried to refocus on what she would say to Owen, but she was distracted by the reappearance of that girl. Perhaps that had been when she started looking tired. Perhaps she should ask for the picture, to see if there was a drastic difference now.

She ran into April at the elevators.

"Cristina! Have you been avoiding me?"

Cristina winced. April was usually an annoyingly perky person, but now that she was pregnant she ran around the hospital like it was filled with sunshine and bunny rabbits. She made everything around her seem darker because of her ridiculous happiness.

"Oh, no. I would never do that."

Callie appeared from the hallway behind them, beginning to bounce when she saw Cristina. "Did Meredith tell you the thing? Are you excited?"

"Oh, god, there's two of you." Cristina mashed the elevator button again, considering the fire alarm mounted on the wall.

Callie did a little circle around her, squealed, and then followed her eyes. "Fine. If you won't be happy with me, I'll find someone who will. Where's Meredith?"

"Watching the medical students squirm."

April mimicked her bouncing. "I'll be happy with you."

"Too happy," Callie responded, ticking her finger dismissively. "I need moderately enthusiastic."

Cristina escaped into the elevator, putting a hand out before April joined her. "Take the next one. Please, please take the next one."

April frowned, but it faded shortly. "When can I come over to snuggle the babies?"

"How's the 31st?"

"But there are only thirty-"

The doors shut on her confusion. Cristina smiled and hovered in the middle. She felt oddly relieved all of the sudden. Familiar faces gave her comfort. Familiar interactions made the future seem a little less scary. If her talk with Owen went well, she would be saying goodbye to those faces for a while. Her smile left her as she wondered how she would fare without them.


	88. Peace

**Peace.**

**April 20, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"Do you think squirrels dream?"

Owen looked up, frowning. He had been studying one of many handbooks detailing his new position, his mind completely occupied by thoughts of emergency protocols and chain of command, while his wife sat in the sand and did her damndest to build a castle. He was surprised to find her staring at him with all the seriousness in the world, a smudge of mud on her cheek, a silky black bun steadily falling behind her head, holding up a piece of cardboard with a colorful cartoon squirrel on it. Collin had scribbled all over it.

He could barely gather his words. "What?"

"Do you think they dream?" She withdrew the cardboard, pursing her lips at it. "I mean, they have to, right? But do they think about acorns and traffic circles, or really serious stuff like constellations and the nature of the universe? Do they have nightmares about hungry cats?"

Owen shifted, pulling the canopy of the twins' stroller up a little further to keep them out of the sun. Both were napping, stacked one behind the other, oblivious to the world. "Why do you care it squirrels dream?" He reached over and wiped the mud from Cristina's cheek, smiling at her baffled expression. "I think you need to get out of the sun for a while."

She smirked. "Zola asked me that. I think it's a worthwhile question."

"Zola once asked me if the moon was a golf ball that got stuck up there."

"What did you say?"

"I said no. It's obviously a big ol' hunk of mozzarella cheese."

Cristina stood up, stretched, and walked behind the bench to pluck their son out of its shadow. He liked to check the undersides of things for gum. She placed him in the sand by Owen's feet and stood nearby, yawning. "Okay, time to switch. I get the ones who can't walk."

"Keep an eye on this," Owen said of his handbook, placing it in the bottom of the stroller.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I'll watch the precious."

Owen got up to pursue his son, who was already halfway across the playground. Cristina took his spot and waved at him, grinning. He was glad to see her so carefree. She had been so serious lately.

His son had no interest in the playground equipment. He went straight to the other side, climbed over the border, and hobbled toward a path in the woods. Owen jogged to keep up with him. His injured leg was barely an obstacle nowadays. Collin had figured out how to work around it, and then use it to his advantage, tricking others into thinking he would be slower. He would hobble pitifully for a moment, and then when someone turned their back he would shoot off in a random direction, giggling, completely fearless.

Owen took his hand as they entered the woods, slowing him on the wooden planks to keep him from earning another scar on his knees. Here, the sound of children playing grew quieter. Trees surrounded an old wooden bridge that went right over a swamp. It had high walls and it made a pleasant clumping sound with every step. Everything was a deep, saturated green, covered in sunlight, dotted with flowers. Collin gazed around with his mouth open, occasionally stopping to inspect a crooked board or chase a lizard on the railing.

His phone rang and the boy looked at him accusingly. "Sorry," he laughed, releasing his hand to answer it. Collin was pleased with his freedom. He wandered back and forth, folding his little hands behind his back and inspecting things like a proper gentleman. Owen kept a close eye on him, not even checking the number. "Hello?"

"Did you get a chance to look at those books?"

Owen smiled. Her voice was sweetly familiar. It rivaled the tranquility of the forest. "I did. Lots of things to learn."

"It looks like that at first, but I know you'll get the hang of it pretty quickly. I did. Did you talk to Cristina about nailing down the date?"

"She said the twelfth would be fine."

"Okay. I'll talk to Peterson. I'll handle everything. I already found you a house on base and I have one of your spots for the daycare reserved."

"Just one?"

"You have to be a little patient with that. I'm working on it."

Owen plucked Collin off of the railing. "No climbing." He smacked his hand away from a caterpillar. "No bugs."

"Sounds like you have your hands full right now."

"No. Collin is a good kid. You just have to be vigilant."

"Charlie is the same way. I swear, he is the most mischievously little boy I've ever met. He gets it from his father."

"Drew?"

"_Dante_."

Owen smiled. He and Cristina always purposefully got the name wrong. It was driving the poor woman crazy. His mind settled on the boy, who Owen had only seen pictures of. "I don't want to pry, or anything, but how are you gonna take it? Being away from him for a year?"

Her tone came a little muted. "I'll be home to visit between cases. But it'll be hard. I just have to keep telling myself that what I'm doing will have a lasting impact on thousands of _other_ children. I think, when he's older, he'll understand that. I hope he will."

"I'm sure he will." Owen was uncertain. He knew his father had done great things in the military, but he could only remember the ache of his absence.

"Is Cristina around?"

"No. We left her back at the park. Collin and I are taking a path through the woods."

"Oh, okay. I'll just call her cell, then."

"She may be asleep. She does this thing where she slumps over the stroller and takes a nap."

"I can't wait to meet your kids, Owen. I don't know if I've said that yet, but I can't wait."

Owen smiled. He was looking forward to introducing his children to her. He was looking forward to meeting her son. Every day since Cristina had agreed to make the move to Germany, his excitement for it had grown. He wanted to be a leader. He wanted to serve his country. He wanted to do this for Teddy. He was counting the days until his dreams became a reality.

"I have to go. Charlie is chasing the dog. Talk to you soon."

She hung up abruptly, and the trail grew quiet. Owen followed his little charge around the bends, listening to him babble about nothing in particular while he investigated the world. Slowly, the trail curved over a lake, and then doubled back to another playground. Collin became enthralled with the faded bouncy animals, flopping around on them for a while before he moved on to the slides. Owen made a circle around the edge, looking into the woods and wondering why there were no other children here. He also wondered what his new uniform would look like.

Collin came and took his hand, leading him back to the slide and ordering him to put him at the top over and over. He took his time getting up, considering the pine straw beneath his feet like he had never seen such a strange thing, and then he approached with his arms up again.

Eventually the boy got tired of the lonely little playground and headed back to the path. Owen walked beside him patiently, amused by his slower pace. He was running out of steam. He scooped the toddler up and carried him, letting him look over the edges and holding him over the water while he laughed. Halfway down the path, he snuggled into Owen's shoulder, and he was asleep before they made it out of the woods. It was getting late and the park was clearing out.

"I thought a swamp monster ate you guys," Cristina said as they approached. She stood, stretched, and smiled at him, patting Collin on the back. "Poor little guy."

"He made it pretty far. I was impressed."

"That's because he's impressive. Studly little man." She took him from Owen, rocking him on her shoulder to keep him asleep. He loved the way she looked at that boy.

"Did Teddy call you?"

She nodded, and then motioned toward the Durango. "We can walk and talk. If we don't get some bottles going soon, we might lose our hearing."

Owen followed her with the stroller, pulling the cover back. Noah was behind his sister, and he peered up as the light hit him. Both of them yawned in unison.

"She told me about her research partner. _Way_ underqualified, but a favorite of theirs. She got stuck with him. I told her I would help her hide the body if she needed to get rid of him, but she insisted murder was never okay. I think the call was being recorded."

Owen laughed. He was glad she got along with Teddy again. There had been a time when the two of them didn't see eye-to-eye, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Oh, and she found a nice house on the base. Three bedrooms, a living room, a den, a fireplace, and a fenced-in yard."

"Did we decide on our Seattle house?"

"Keeping it. Returning to it."

He nodded, hitting the unlock button in his pocket and pulling open the door. He folded the first seat and grabbed Collin, climbing into the back with him and strapping him into his seat. "I thought you would say that."

"Well, at least we don't have to go house-hunting when we get home. I think Mer or Derek will keep it moderately livable for us."

Owen slid out, folded the chair, and reattached the infant seat, strapping his son in while he spoke. "Did you know Teddy had a dog?"

"Rescue. Beagle, or something. Charlie likes to chase it."

"Hmm." He took Evelyn out of the stroller and cradled her, watching her mother fold it up. She hauled it to the trunk and packed it in. Owen followed. "We should get a dog."

Cristina cocked an eyebrow at him. "We have three of them. Give the little ones some time and I'm sure you can teach them to fetch."

He strapped his daughter in and hopped into the driver's seat, glancing back to make sure he didn't back into any trees. Cristina blasted the air conditioning and flattened her hair with both hands. She set his handbook on her lap.

"Derek and Meredith might be getting a dog."

She looked at him, smiling. "Do you have dog envy?"

"No. I just figure Collin would like it."

"You're jealous of Derek's future dog, aren't you?"

"I'm really not. I just-"

"You want a big, manly dog to make his dog look bad."

Owen laughed, reaching over to pluck a leaf out of her hair. "Collin needs a dog. I always had a dog growing up. It helps kids learn, and it makes them feel safer."

She twisted her lips. "We can talk about that when we get back from Germany."

He shrugged. "Fine with me. But a big dog, definitely."

"I kind of want a Pomeranian."

"No way. Never."

"The wife gets what the wife wants."

He glanced at her, resting his foot on the break and keeping them in the park driveway for a moment longer. She was glowing. He was so happy to be there for the moment that he forgot how serious she had seemed that morning. This was the woman he liked to see – fresh out of the sun, relaxed by her kids, sweet and sarcastic and lovely.

"We can get a Pomeranian and a big dog. How's that?"

Cristina glanced back, grinning. "As long as we don't end up with three."


	89. Attack

**Attack.**

**May 6, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina felt like she had been running all day. Her head was full of work problems and home problems, and somehow the warmth and the sound of children laughing could not make a dent in her mood. She had felt it growing for weeks, ever since she had decided to go to Germany. It came and went with the day, becoming strong when she was tired and ebbing off when she was with her friends. But now, on a nice, warm day, with a dozen kids forming a wave of cackling all over the field and giant blow-up castles mounted nearby, she felt it much more strongly.

It was because she knew this was all about to come to an end.

She watched her friends interact and laugh, watched them gaze at their children with all the love in the world, watched them, now years older, function as adults instead of the lousy kids they had been when she met them. Suddenly she realized she was leaving them all again, starting over in another foreign place, where bad things would inevitably happen. It was like Switzerland again, only this time she would be alone. Owen would spend all day doing his new job, which apparently carried high prestige and importance, and Teddy would be in some exotic place, doing incredible surgeries in a tent with mosquitoes hovering in her ears, and she would be at home with her children, or working in some new hospital, with a new crowd of people. She would be alone, and this time she wouldn't even have Shane.

She had never let the thought of loneliness bug her before. It had worked its way in and now it was haunting her. In the past she had never been afraid to withdraw her commitment – she would rather be disliked than do something she didn't want to do – but it was different this time. Owen was so happy. She found herself holding onto his happiness because she couldn't be separated from him again. He was Collin's father now. He was the father of her twins. She loved him so much.

Cristina was alone, sitting atop a shaded picnic table and watching the festivities. Her twins were in different parts of the party – Noah was with April, who was growing rounder every day, and Evelyn was with Owen, who was showing her off to just about anyone who would look at him. Bailey, who wore his 'birthday boy' crown with pride, was leading Collin around by the hand, taking him from blow-up to blow-up. He slowed his pace and remained adorably patient with her crippled son. Sofia had her own crown. She was at the head of the mob of children from her kindergarten class, including Zola, as they pursued butterflies through the fields.

It was a nice, double party, filling the park with people, populating the air with laughter.

She was joined by Meredith after the cake ceremony. Her friend looked tired. She laid out over the top of the picnic table and groaned. "You would think after fifty pieces Derek would contribute to the cake distribution. What an oaf."

"New insult. I like it."

"Why are you over here sulking?" Meredith sat up, wrapping one arm around Cristina and leaning heavily into her. "You could be shoving cake in your face right now."

Cristina watched Alex cut out the middle of the cake and carefully deposit it on his place. He smiled villainously and headed in their direction. Cristina curled her nose at the sugary smell. "No. If I eat that, I'll barf all over your party dress."

"Why so glum?"

Cristina glared at her, and then at Alex, who sat on her other side. He chewed loudly, slopping his jaws together like a hungry bear. When he earned stares from both women, he stopped and frowned. "What? Get your own."

"I bought that cake," Meredith grunted. She sighed. "Eat like a person."

"Whatever." He went on munching.

"Really, why are you so glum?" Meredith persisted. She grew more serious. "Is this about the move? I wish you would talk to me."

"What about the move? You don't wanna go?" Alex paused his chewing, glancing at the party. "Is Owen making you move? Screw him!"

"No." Cristina dunked her finger in his icing, sneaking a taste. It was delightful. "I just had a long night. Lots of sick hearts."

Meredith was not convinced. "If you want to stay-"

"I wish you would drop it." Cristina got up. "If I wanted to stay, I would. _Seriously_. I'm a grown-up. I already told you what it was, but it's gone now. Icing is the cure."

"Here, have the rest," Alex said, holding out his plate.

Cristina waved him off. "I'm going to get my own."

She walked through the party, relieved that no one seemed interested in talking to her. She wasn't in the mood for conversation, not even with her two oldest friends. She was glad they had gotten over their fight, but she didn't know how to explain herself to them. She didn't want to.

She went straight to the cake and got herself a corner piece, beating Jackson by half a second. He glared at her as she danced away. She almost crashed into the adult Bailey, smiled, and ducked around her. She wasn't going back to the picnic table, but she wanted to sit down somewhere. She really did have a bad night and her feet were killing her.

She took the unpopulated corner of a table near the bouncy house, digging into her cake like she thought it might disappear. It made her feel better for the moment.

"How bad is it?"

She looked up, mouth full of cake, and found Callie sitting across from her.

"I only eat like that when I break up with someone," Callie went on, staring at her intently. She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes.

Cristina went back to her cake.

"Come on. Give me something."

"Let me drown my sorrows in peace."

"I think it's more like _burying_ your sorrows. And no."

Cristina looked up again, scowling. "Aren't you supposed to be congratulating your kid or something? Go get in the bouncy house."

"We take turns showering her with praise. Arizona has her for ten more minutes." Callie pretended to check her watch. "We can squeeze in a therapy session."

Cristina was about to reject her again, determined to find a quieter spot to eat her cake, but when she looked up her intentions faded away. She took a deep breath, sighed, and sat back a little. "I had a long day."

"I've seen you after a long day. Not the same."

"Yeah, well, that's all it is."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care."

"You know what I think it is?"

"I don't care what you think it is."

Silence.

"You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

Callie tilted her head. "You look trapped."

Her heart jumped. She was hit hard by those words. She even glanced around to make sure no one else had heard the accusation. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we used to live together, and a long time ago you looked the same way when Owen… had some issues. You looked just like this. You looked scared, and confused, and every day you came home with the same eyes. Those eyes."

Cristina almost said something biting, but she held it back. She got up instead, unwilling to hear anything else from her friend. It was like she saw right through her. It made her wonder if Meredith could see the same thing, and if she was just being kind by not mentioning it. She looked back toward the shady picnic table and saw Meredith and Alex watching her, talking to each other. It was easy to see that they knew what was happening, too.

Cristina wasn't even sure what was happening. Why was it so easy for everyone else to figure out? Her body felt jittery all of the sudden.

"I saw that look on Owen, too, you know."

"Can you stop talking?" Cristina wondered, abandoning her plate and walking around the bouncy house. Callie followed her. "Geez, what are you, my stalker?"

"I think you're having an anxiety attack."

Cristina wheeled on her, put a finger up between them, and then kept on walking. Her words faded into a barrage of thoughts – the same thoughts she had been having for weeks, running on a loop in her head. She headed for the path Owen had taken Collin down, hoping the quiet would help her focus. Right now her mind was too crowded.

"I don't have anxiety attacks."

"You have before. Remember?"

"So? It's been years."

"You had PTSD. Sometimes it resurfaces."

Cristina stopped short of the woods, glaring at her. "Really? You think that's what this is? I can't be a little nervous about moving away without you accusing me of having a meltdown?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to help you."

"By stalking me?"

"By making sure you're okay. That's what _friends_ do." Callie shrugged. "If you get mad, so what."

Cristina ground her teeth. "If I didn't think you could take me in a fight…"

"Sure. Right. Violence. Works every time."

"Just leave me alone. I need a minute."

"You're panting."

"Well I just ran across a field."

"During a birthday party. Does that seem a little strange to you?"

"No. I was being chased by an annoying… what are you, anyway?"

"Um, I'm not sure what you-"

"Whatever. The point is, leave me alone."

"Yeah, that's not happening until you take it down like six notches."

Cristina could feel her heart beating in her ears. For a moment it seemed like that sound would overpower everything else, but she heard her name. Meredith was approaching. Alex was behind her. It was becoming a spectacle. She turned and walked onto the path, listening for the clunking of wood underfoot to keep their voices out of her head. She barely looked where she was going.

She wondered, briefly, if this was what Owen felt like sometimes. He would leave the house and stand outside in the cold, his eyes shut, his head tilted up toward the sky. It was like he was listening for something. Now she realized he was waiting for all the noise to stop.

"What did you do to her?" Meredith was demanding.

"Did she take something?" Alex said.

"She's having a panic attack. Just shut up for a second."

Cristina hit the railing, not even noticing a curve. She stopped at it, resting her hands on it, and focused on the water below. It was boggy and gross, and gnats hovered at its surface, and nasty, slimy paste bobbed around the cypress stumps.

Meredith reached her and put her hand on her back, making gentle circles and leaning in close. She spoke softly. "Hey. What's wrong? Talk to me."

"Is it about the move?" Alex appeared at her other side, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You can stay here. You can just stay here with us."

Cristina rolled her eyes, wiping her sleeve across them when she realized they were full of tears. "It's not about the stupid move," she snapped. Her voice broke. Her hand shook a little on the railing. Her stomach twisted into a knot. "It's something else… it's something else."

"Look at me." Meredith put her hand on Cristina's face, staring into her eyes for a moment and frowning. "Alex, she feels cold."

Her face was taken in the other direction, and Alex stared at her, frowning. "Follow my finger." He moved his index finger back and forth, and she followed it. After just a moment she slapped his hand away, bent over the railing, and vomited. He barely got a handle on her hair.

"It's not about the move," Cristina insisted when she could breathe again. She slumped against the wood, shutting her eyes. Really, she was starting to feel that it had nothing to do with the move. But what was it? She felt wrong inside. She felt tired. She had looked at herself in the mirror last month and she had seen a different person staring back at her – but what if she was wrong? What if she was the same person? What if she was _sick_?

Meredith continued to make circles on her back, giving Alex a very serious look, and then she leaned closer again. "Have you been throwing up lately?"

Almost every day, like clockwork. She thought it was nerves. "No."

"Have you been more tired than usual?"

"I have three kids."

"_More than usual_?"

Exhausted. All the time. "Mer, relax. I must've eaten something bad. I feel better now."

"Cristina…" Her friend frowned.

"Seriously," Callie intervened, "You just had a meltdown. You think that was food poisoning?"

Cristina steadied herself and stepped away from them. "No. I threw up because of the food. I freaked out because… I'm just anxious about moving. Honestly, I don't want to be alone. But it's what's best for my family, and time will fly by. Yes, it's bothering me, but no, I don't need you guys to hold my hand and tell me it's going to be okay. I can handle it. I can handle anything."

Callie sighed, clearly unsatisfied. "I think you should see a doctor."

"I am a doctor. I declare myself mentally sound and healthy. See how that works?"

Meredith crossed her arms and shook her head. "You want us to stop bothering you? See a doctor. A_ different_ doctor."

Cristina groaned, but realized she was trapped between the three of them. She relented, pushing her way out of the triangle. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't mention this to Owen. He has enough to worry about."

"Probably his fault," Alex grumbled.

"It's not, and don't mention it," Cristina said to him, poking him in the shoulder.

He shrugged like an irritated teenager.

Cristina followed them, unwillingly, down the wooded path, toward the ongoing party. Her mind had cleared a little, along with the contents of her stomach, but she still had the nagging sense that something was seriously wrong. She was not the type to panic like that. Now that it was over she could hardly believe it had happened. She felt helpless and angry, indignant because of their intervention, and worried about her health. The things that had set her off no longer made sense, and the longer she thought about it, the more embarrassed she was. She wished they had not been there to see that. She wondered why she even cared.

She returned to her picnic table, leaning against Alex's shoulder while the mothers returned to their respective birthday kids. He stared ahead stoically, thoughtful. She was glad he didn't talk about what had happened. She wanted to forget about it.

She found herself watching Owen. He was running gleefully behind Collin. She smiled every time he smiled, and found a little warmth inside. She wouldn't mention it to him. It would only make him worry, and she needed his sunshine to keep herself going. Everyone got nervous. Everyone got food poisoning every now and then.

"I wish you would tell him," Alex said after a while.

She shook her head. "I'm fine now. Crisis averted."

He looked doubtful.

"Listen, I'll let you run some tests, or whatever. Just drop it." She sighed, sunk down a little, and shook her head, smiling at her husband and her son. "Look how _happy_ he is."


	90. Fair

**Fair.**

**June 10, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina pressed a cold soda to her forehead, shutting her eyes tightly. She thought of everything and nothing at the same time, alternating between the meaning of life and how she was going to scrape herself off of the lounge couch. It was slowly becoming the most comforting part of her day. She no longer got her joy from fixing sick hearts, but from sinking into the cushions and letting the smell of lavender sweep her away. It barely had an effect today. She had a migraine. Her temples throbbed, her eye sockets ached, and her molars vibrated.

Her shift was over and she was technically on call, so she could have gone to nap in an on-call room, or stomped upstairs to see her kids in the daycare, but the lounge was the first quiet place she encountered. She just wanted a few moments to herself.

It would have been easy to send herself home. She had agreed to stay until she left for Germany in mid-July, but they had not nailed down a day. If she really wanted to she could worm her way out of it, trading her free time for baby snuggles. But she kept herself from giving in to her desires. She had to tough it out, or Owen would notice. She had always been able to handle long shifts.

Cristina occupied herself with the clock mounted above her. It was late afternoon. Her on-call hours were slowly slipping away, and her pager was silent. She was glad. She had dealt with a nasty patient most of the day. He thought she was trying to kill him, and it took four doctors and a security guard to hold him down long enough to sedate him. When he woke up he destroyed his wound dressing and pulled out some of his stitches, forcing her to take him back to surgery. He went into cardiac arrest on the table and barely made it back to recovery. She was waiting for her pager to display his room number, requesting another visit with the cardio department.

Her pager was silent, but her phone buzzed every now and then. Meredith was harassing her about her doctor's appointment – the one Cristina had never made. But Meredith was at home and she had no way to know that Cristina was not at the doctor, but sulking on a couch in the hospital. She told her it went great. She told her there was nothing wrong with her.

April joined her in the lounge. She hovered near the refrigerator, humming, and then approached.

Cristina put her hand up to block her view of the other surgeon's enormous baby belly. "Could you get that thing away from me? For a second I thought it was a meteor crashing down to Earth. I was about to go get my kids and huddle with them for our final moments."

Her coworker was, as always, unbothered by her comments. She rested a hand on her stomach. "It's so weird to think he'll be almost one when you get back from Germany."

"Congratulations. Go away."

"You look tired. Are you okay?"

"I've been working all day. Why wouldn't I look tired?"

"You just seem… more tired than usual. Are you pregnant again?"

"God, no." Cristina sat up, hauling herself to her feet with more effort than usual. Her back was aching just as badly as her head. "If you follow me, I will hit you with this can of Coke, pregnant or not. Sugary beverages do not discriminate."

April took her place, smiling obnoxiously. "I actually enjoy your grumpiness. I know you mean well. If you didn't actually like people, why would you be a surgeon?"

"Because I like cutting them open and playing with their insides."

Cristina took to wandering the hospital, trying to look busy when someone seemed ready to initiate a conversation. She checked in on her insane patient, glad to see he was in restraints and watched over by a security guard. She swung by the nurses' station to check his chart, curious about his condition over the last few hours. His vitals were holding. She would be able to avoid opening him up again as long as they could keep him from clawing at his incision.

Her pager went off as she was entering an on-call room. She was almost grateful. Sleep seemed to make her more exhausted these days.

It was a 911 from Owen.

Cristina went for the stairs, dodging other hospital staff on her way to the emergency room. She always got a shot of adrenaline when she saw those three telltale numbers roll across her pager, accompanied by the trauma department code. It came from Owen. She knew he was running the emergency room because April, the other trauma surgeon on duty that day, was in the lounge.

She hit the emergency room and paused for a moment, assessing the chaotic situation. Gurneys were rolling in and doctors were crisscrossing the floor like excited gnats. Some of the new patients looked like they were in very bad shape, and others were sitting up, gazing around, trapped in a fog of confusion. She saw that look a lot when people were in serious accidents. Confusion often came with serious brain trauma, and those people could be dead within the hour.

Owen was just coming through the doors, talking rapidly to paramedics. He looked up and met her eyes briefly, calling her over, and then went on with his conversation.

Cristina jumped on the other side of the gurney he was pushing, bracing her hands on the railing. She only had a moment to be surprised by the tiny baby lying in its center, already fitted with a teeny neck brace. It had cuts all over its body. Its limbs were maimed. It had a shard of glass sticking out of its chest, right where its heart should have been.

Her husband spoke to her rapidly as he shooed the paramedics. He told her everything he knew, which was scarce, and then looked at her expectantly. "I have a case in OR 4. I need you to take the lead on this. We already have peds on the way."

"Page ortho. It looks like that hand needs to be amputated."

Owen broke off into another operating room, and she was met by staff at her own. Her gurney rolled on and she stopped in the scrub room, taking a deep, settling breath before she started scrubbing in. She stared ahead as she washed, watching them prepare the tiny thing for surgery. It looked like her twins when they were born – too small to come into the world and ill-prepared for the awful things it offered.

She came in on a failing heart. She did a quick assessment, determining that it was male, less than a month old, and that it had been healthy before the crash. He looked like an appropriate weight and size for his age. His vitals were sinking rapidly.

Cristina was joined by Arizona after just a few moments. Her colleague began plugging holes in the baby's arteries while Cristina tried to determine the best course of action for his punctured heart. For a short time, the only sound was the steadily slowing beat of the monitors. Cristina fell into its rhythm while she poked and prodded at the wound. She could feel the heart beating under her fingers, struggling to overcome an obstruction.

"Femoral is stitched. Moving on to the scalp." Arizona moved around Cristina, flipping a piece of skin back over the baby's skull. Both of them were surprised by the appearance of a blood-filled eye. Arizona shook her head, her voice low. "Why does this happen?"

Cristina listened to the new information as it came in. Someone had discovered his blood type and bags were entering the room. He was seven days old and he had been involved in a multicar accident. He was not strapped into his car seat correctly and the window nearest to him had not been properly repaired, so it shattered on impact. He could have more shards of glass lodged in his body, or down his throat, or flowing through his veins in tiny pieces.

She knew what she would have to do to his heart.

"Get that bleed stopped and get on suction. I need to put a graft over the gash in his heart." Cristina switched sides, now aware that Callie was hovering in the scrub room. "When I get his heart repaired you can come in to amputate the hand. We need to work quickly, before he ends up losing his whole arm. Removing the shard now."

Surgery was an interesting type of puzzle. Cristina had always seen it as a series of sometimes predictable, but mostly unpredictable, events tied to her own actions. If she pulled the shard out wrong, he could go into cardiac arrest. His brain could lose its flow of oxygen and he could suffer permanent brain damage. If she pulled it out wrong, but in a different way, she could encourage some glass splinters to enter his bloodstream and he would become a ticking time bomb. Or her graft could fail, his laceration could open up, and he could pump all of his blood into his thoracic cavity in a matter of minutes. His heart would begin to strain. It would quicken. His brain would be deprived of oxygen, and his nerves would fail, and, again, his heart would quicken. He was a baby, so he was already running on fast-forward.

Or she could do everything right, and the baby could end up with an average loss of function. He could come out favorably, but permanently damaged, permanently delicate. She could make several different decisions and end up with average, good, or ideal outcomes.

It depended completely upon what she decisions she made, and those decisions came easily to her. She wished her life was that easy.

She pulled the shard and attached the offered graft, expertly suturing between stalled heartbeats. In the first few moments the heart slowed, accepting more blood, and then it began to beat rapidly. It was returning to its natural rhythm, pumping blood more effectively out of his other wounds.

"Proceed with the amputation."

Callie came in, gloves up, and examined the arms, nodding as she moved. "Okay. Saving the left hand is not an option. I can repair the right, but I'm not seeing any fingers. Did we recover any fingers at the scene?"

One of the nurses spoke up. "Yes. We have the standing by."

"Okay. Get the fingers prepped."

Cristina waited out of the way, monitoring the readings from the heart while the other surgeons worked on his hands. Arizona finished suturing his face, his thigh, and some of his torso, and then assisted her wife. Their infant patient was taking the stress remarkably well. Babies were resilient. It was the adults they had to watch out for.

She got the rest of the story while she stood there. Webber was in the observation room, getting whispered to by other staff, and he would come down to tell her anything he thought was pertinent to saving the young life. He added in some extra details the last time. Her patient had not been named yet. He was born seven days prior and abandoned at a fire station in the early morning. He was on his way to a temporary foster home when his case worker was involved in the accident.

Cristina began to feel bad for the poor little thing. First he had lost his mother, after barely getting to know her, and now he looked like a science experiment. He had a tube running down his throat and metal in his mouth. Callie had attached a metal bar to his spine and she tweaked it throughout surgery, resetting his vertebrae while she worked on taking away one of his hands. His little heart was getting stronger, slowly, but he had experienced more stress in the last seven days than most people did in their whole lives. He certainly had the will to live. Cristina admired that in him. She had seen it in a lot of her trial patients. It was the kids who had it the worst, with the direst circumstances, and the most stigmatized illnesses, that became the strongest.

She waited until the surgery was complete almost three hours later, observing Callie as she worked intricately inside the arm of a newborn. She was making sure he would be able to get prosthetics one day. She gave him a good, comfortable stump, and then carefully wrapped it up, and continued to tweak the metal device. Arizona left a few times to deal with another pediatric patient involved in the crash, and before leaving the final time she smiled at the boy and promised to see him later.

Cristina was glad when it was over. She wanted the kid to have a break. His heart could only handle so much. She gave her instructions to the charge nurse. "Get him to the ICU and set him up for an IV, but hold off on fluids for right now. I'll send one of the cardio residents to monitor him. Until then, I want an alarm on his vitals. If anything changes, page me."

She stood at the sink for a while, even after the boy had been wheeled out of the room. Callie joined her and they shared a sigh.

"I hate seeing little kids lose limbs," Callie admitted. "He's just so _little_. It's not fair. He has his whole life ahead of him, and he gets to go through it without his left hand. I could only save _two_ fingers on his right. Two out of ten."

Cristina nodded. "Life sucks."

"Yeah. It does." Callie looked over at her, frowning. "Did you ever go see that doctor? I know Meredith said you had an appointment."

Cristina waved her off, dismissive. "It was earlier. He said I was fine, just like I thought." She yawned, stretched, and headed for the door. "I wish I could stay and cry with you, but I have to go teach a resident how to watch a cardio kid."

"Shouldn't you do it? I mean, he is fragile."

"They have to learn somehow."

"But-"

"You decide what to do with your residents, and I'll decide what to do with mine." Cristina almost left with that, but Callie looked concerned, so she paused. "I'm not picking a first-year. Would you relax? I have someone in mind."

Cristina sent a page to her favorite resident. He was in his third year and he started focusing on cardio shortly before she moved back from Zurich. She had hated him at first, annoyed by his very Alex-like attitude, but the kid was a promising surgeon. He kept his attitude to himself when it came to her. It only took a few days to straighten it out of him, and he had been groveling ever since. Perhaps that was why she favored him so much.

He showed up within moments, still chewing on his lunch. "Yes, Dr. Yang?"

She hated his stupid boyband haircut. It made her grimace. "God. Cut your hair, kid. You look ridiculous. Walk with me." She turned and headed for the elevators. "Seven-day-old baby boy with severe penetrating trauma from a car accident. I just repaired a laceration on his heart with a graft. I want you to watch over him while I'm off, and I expect you to report any changes to me."

He followed her, listening in silence until she paused to take a breath. "Do you want me to-?"

"Hush." She took a meaningful breath, glaring at him.

He waited, frowning.

She let several moments pass in silence. When the elevator opened she stepped in and beckoned the resident after her. He bit his lip and crossed his arms.

He gave in when they made it to the ICU. He looked through the glass, frowning. "Poor kid."

"Yeah. Poor kid." Cristina stopped at the glass with him, surprising herself. She usually avoided teaching moments these days, too wrapped up in her own life to bother training more surgeons. She had given up after Shane. She was proud of him. Why did she have to keep making more of them? But when she looked at this kid she saw a little bit of Shane. "But don't feel sorry for him. He lived. In cardio, you lose a lot of kids."

He looked over and his frown deepened. He was waiting for her to go on.

She shrugged. "What? I don't have anything else. We lose a lot of kids in cardio. Now get in there and make sure we don't lose that one. You know what to do."

Cristina left him there, going straight to the nursery. It was finally time to go home. She was dragging her feet all the way across the colorful carpet, but when Collin saw her coming, and his face lit up, the exhaustion left her for the moment. She scooped him up into her arms and snuggling her face into his neck, releasing a breath. It felt like she was pulling a shard of glass from her own heart. He was her little ball of sunshine.

"Hey, buddy. Ready to go home?"

"Home!" he declared.

Cristina retrieved her stroller from the closet and unfolded it, setting her toddler down to load up his siblings. She was crouched down, strapping Noah into the front of the stroller, when she was caught by the main caregiver.

"Good to see you, Dr. Yang. Usually Dr. Hunt comes to pick them up."

"Yeah." Cristina stood up, rubbing her back when it popped. She was only a little guilty about that. She was about to grab her son, but he was being dragged away by a little girl. "Who is that?"

"Oh, our new arrival. Cora Pierce."

"Pierce?" Cristina watched the little girl, wondering where she had heard that name.

"Her mother is going to run the cardio department while you're gone."

"Ahh." Suddenly it clicked. Maggie Pierce. She had sent a letter to Meredith. Cristina had interviewed her a thousand years ago for the same position when she had left for Switzerland. She had left after the interview to handle a family emergency.

Her daughter was cute. She had curly black hair and brown eyes, and she seemed to have Collin wrapped around her finger. She was the same age, perhaps a little older, and she wore a cute, brightly colored jumper.

"Yeah, but I'm not gone yet," Cristina pointed out, looking away from the kids for a moment. "I leave in July. I'm pretty sure it's still June."

The other woman shrugged. "I just watch the kids."

Cristina collected her son, apologized to the irritated little girl, and headed out. Owen met her in the hallway, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, hey, let me help." He took Collin, giving the boy a snuggle before he kissed her cheek. "How did it go with the baby? I heard you put a resident on him. Which one? Callie was a little worried."

"Uh, jeez, I call him Fancy. Not sure what his real name is."

"Fancy?"

"I named the residents after Reba songs when I got back."

"Okay, then."

"He's the pretty one, looks like Justin Timberlake. Third year."

"His name is Dr. Hatchet."

Cristina snorted. "Dr. Hatchet? And he's a surgeon? No wonder I renamed him."

"Or maybe it was Hatcher. I'm not sure now."

"I'm going with the first one. You can't make this stuff up."

Owen smiled and gave her another quick kiss on the cheek. "I want to cook tonight."

It was a quiet ride home. Cristina went straight to the couch with Collin while Owen entertained the twins in the kitchen. He hummed while he worked, occasionally stopping to drive one of the babies into a laughing fit. Cristina was beyond exhausted, but every time she heard one of them laughing she smiled despite herself. Collin sat up on her stomach and toyed with her name badge, and then retrieved a series of small toys from his room and stacked them up on her legs.

She let her eyes slide shut to the smell of spaghetti sauce. She wondered idly what the doctor would have said, if she would have made an appointment. She let it slide away.


	91. Reason

**Reason.**

**June 13, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"Just hurry up, please. I think you're dragging this out on purpose."

He looked up, amused, and continued pressing his fingers along her abdomen. "You know, I could bust you right now. Seriously. If anyone found out about this…" He whistled, sliding his hands along her back and up her spine, giving her the most obnoxious grin he could manage without actually becoming a weasel. "You should be nicer to me. I do so much for you."

Cristina groaned and slapped his hands away. "Satisfied?"

"No. I want an MRI, maybe an X-ray."

"Well you're not gonna get either. I have to get back to work. You know, lives to save, sick hearts to make whole again." Cristina tried to hop off of the table, but he slid sideways to stop her. She had always wondered where the line between endearing and irritating stopped with him, and it seemed she had finally found it. "Alex, I'm not afraid to go for your jugular."

"Relax. Just give me five more minutes. Let me take one X-ray."

"What about three minutes and half an X-ray?"

He smirked. "You can put your shirt back on. Whatever it is, it's not in your torso. At least, it's not on the surface." He grabbed the light from the wall and stretched it over them, flicking it on right above her head. "Let me look at your eyes again."

"If you see something swimming in them-"

He captured her chin with his hand, forcing her head up. "Yeah, yeah."

"I can see fine. This is a waste of time."

"It'll just take a second. Stop being a whiney brat."

Cristina veered out of the light, blinking to chase the black dots away. "Happy now?"

"I think you should let me-"

She scowled at him. "I think you should kiss my-"

"Yeah. Figured you would say that. Here." He handed her a scrub top and glanced behind him. "Hurry up. I don't want to get caught in here with you. Scandal is the last thing I need right now. I literally just got back into my own house."

"You got back ages ago. Stop being dramatic."

"Still. Hurry up."

Right on cue, like the cosmos had been listening to their conversation and figured it would throw a big bucket of ironic into their lives, the exam room door opened. Cristina was not a very shy person, but she threw her shirt up over her chest anyway, more surprised than anything. Alex whipped around and stepped in front of her, shouting at the resident who stood like a deer in headlights in the doorway. "_Get out_!"

The resident skittered away, slamming the door shut.

Cristina groaned and slid off the table. "Look what you did!"

"What I did? You asked me to check you out."

"Obviously I had a lapse in judgement."

His eyes narrowed. He seemed to want to say something childish back, but he refrained. His expression grew serious, suddenly older. He put his hands on her shoulders, keeping her from leaving. "Cristina, as your friend, and as someone who loves you and needs you to be okay, I want to run a few tests. Just let me do that. I know you're not worried about it, but I am. So just put away your pride for five minutes. Just stop being a raging bitch monster, okay?"

Cristina sighed, wishing she could escape his stupid puppy dog eyes. "Fine. Geez. Do your stupid tests. Go cry about it."

He laughed and patted her head. "Good. Now we should tell Meredith."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes."

Cristina was silent. Her mind went straight to the worse place. She had already lied to Meredith about going to the doctor. She would have to admit that lie, and admit that she went to Alex for help. She knew Meredith would be hurt. She would be outraged.

"I still don't get it. Why would you lie?"

"I thought I was fine. And then I thought maybe I wasn't fine. But I didn't want Meredith to know I lied to her. So I need you to prove that I'm fine."

"What if you aren't?"

"If it comes down to that, I'll deal with it. But right now, just keep this between us, please. I kept your dirty secrets and you have to keep mine."

"But you-"

"Blasphemy. Get out of the way."

He smiled and let her pass. "I'll book some tests and let you know. Keep your pager on."

Cristina stopped in the doorway, her mind moving to another topic. "Hey, did you hear anything about that kid who lost his hand? Little orphan boy? I still have him on my post-op list. Critical?"

"Oh, yeah. He started convulsing this morning. We had to induce a coma."

"Poor kid."

"He has a hard life ahead of him." Alex flicked the light off and joined her at the door, opening it for her. "He got his name from the state today, though. Emmanuel. It means 'God with us.'"

"I have dibs on calling him 'Manny' first."

"Too late. Your resident started calling him that this morning. Caught on with the nurses."

"Damnit. Remind me to fire that kid."

Alex rounded a corner. "I kind of like him, actually. He grovels really well."

"Yeah, I taught him that."

"He idolizes you."

"I taught him that, too."

"What is it with you and having your residents worship you like a god?"

Cristina paused by the nurses' station, shrugging. "I deserve it. I am a god. I am a cardio god. I am a vengeful god. But not a perfect one. I make sure I get their names wrong at least once a week."

"Oh, yeah, what was it his nametag said…?"

"Fancy."

"Back on topic. Emmanuel is doing okay for now. His heart seems to be the only thing resisting infection. I still think he can pull through, but he's gonna have a rough couple of weeks."

"What about his fingers?"

"We reattached two of them. Useless, though."

Cristina headed to the lounge, pursued by her friend. He went on about the baby. He was developing new issues related to the accident. Neuro had looked into the possibility of permanent brain damage, but it was hard to tell on such a tiny thing. Lawyers had been in and out from the state, trying to determine how much money they were willing to put into a sick, parentless little boy. Cristina wondered how high they would set the brain damage threshold, and if they would just decide to pull the plug if the baby started losing his fight for life.

It was sickening, and sobering. It brought to life every decision surgeons hated to make, and the impact of those decisions – and the reasoning behind them. It turned a small child into a dollar sign, into a burden, and set up the rest of his life for failure.

"I took five dollars out of your locker earlier," Alex told her as he leaned over her shoulder. He had acquired a muffin when they entered the room, so his mouth was stuffed with it.

She turned to glare at him. "I was gonna buy a burrito with that, you monster!"

"Sorry, no refunds."

She snatched the muffin from him, turning to hide it against her body before he could get it back. He let out an indignant "Hey!" and tried to pry it out of her hands.

"Children, children."

Cristina popped up, surrendering the muffin. Owen was frowning at the two of them.

"He started it," she offered, whacking him on the back as he took another bite of his stolen goods. "Seriously. I was trying to be the adult in the room."

Alex paused while chewing, frowning at the muffin. "Did you lick this?"

"Well, you two look chipper," Owen commented.

"We were just discussing bad habits. Did you know he had sticky fingers?"

"Did you know your wife licks other people's food?"

Owen laughed and kissed Cristina on the forehead. "Webber asked me to work late tonight. I told him I would run it by you first."

"Go for it. I need to catch up on my 'me' time anyway."

"Mind if I come over?" Alex asked, although he had been completely phased out of the conversation already. "Jo is in a mood."

"What kind of mood?" Cristina wondered.

"The kind that insists sex happens every night, for certain results. I'm sore. I need a break."

Cristina wrinkled her nose at him. She knew Jo wanted a baby, but she didn't need to know the details. "Okay, one, _gross_. I need you to refrain from saying anything like that ever again. Two, I said 'me' time, not 'me and Alex' time. Three, no way. Just no."

"I think you should let him," Owen intervened. He glanced at Alex. "You'll miss him when we move. You should spend as much time as possible with your friends before then."

Cristina leaned heavily on her husband, pulling out her whiney voice. "But what if he makes a move on me? You wouldn't stand for that, would you? Another male stomping around in your territory? Be assertive!"

Owen smiled, kissed her forehead again, and started backing out of the lounge. "I'm not worried about it. Have fun! I'll see you later!"

Cristina looked at Alex again, sighed, and went back to digging through her locker. She had to have some extra cash laying around. "You don't have to babysit me."

"I was serious. I need a break."

"Oh. Okay then. Rent a bad movie on the way."

Without saying anything else, they went their separate ways. Cristina looked for Meredith on the other floors, finally catching her stalking the medical students in the same observation room. It seemed they were still playing with their dummy, though there were less of them this time and they seemed bored. Cristina wondered how long they had been in there, forced to practice while their instructor breathed down their neck about upcoming tests.

Meredith said nothing for a while, focusing on a bag of chips, and then she tilted her head toward Christina and smiled. "Derek wants a dog."

"I heard."

"I went to the animal shelter before I came in today. Zola wants a big dog and Bailey wants a tiny dog. I have weird kids. Point is, we're getting a medium-sized dog."

Cristina smiled. "It's all about the compromise."

"Your girl is pretty good. She's saved that dummy's life about six times since I got here."

Cristina followed the familiar medical student around the room. She had snooped to get her name. It was Grace Shaw. She had was attending a nearby university, and though it was not one of the more competitive medical schools in the country, she had blown her classmates out of the water so far. It was good enough to get her accepted into clinicals at Grey-Sloan, and that honor was reserved for potential future surgical interns. Cristina had seen the kid around the hospital and she always seemed to want to talk, so Cristina avoided her. She was hoping she would be able to take her on as a student one day, and she didn't want her current state of mind to scare Grace away. It was best she avoided contact with the unknown.

She had kept her interest from the others, but Meredith was perceptive. Cristina muttered a quiet, noncommittal, "She's not my girl."

"Well, I think she has a crush on you."

Cristina laughed. "She looks at all the attendings like that. Even the residents."

"Remember when we first started? We thought the attendings were surgical gods. We bowed down and kissed their boots."

"Right. Now we get to be the gods. It's not so fun from up here."

Meredith twisted her chair. "I think you should go in and talk to them. Boot camp it up a little. If somebody pees, I'll give you five dollars."

"I did just lose five dollars."

"How?"

"Big, muscly, likes chocolate chip muffins."

"Ahh. Sticky Fingers."

"The one and only." Cristina shifted, watching her prospective student read a new set of stats to her uninterested classmates. "If they knew we were in here, do you think they would get off of their lazy butts and do some actual studying?"

"I spent most of my free time in medical school trying not to leave medical school."

Cristina tapped on the glass, and though the students could not see her, they all hopped up from their relaxed poses and started working on the dummy again. "I like to stay in here. I prefer to watch them from a distance, like fragile little gazelles."

"Is that the plural of 'gazelle'? I always thought it was just 'gazelle.' Like sheep."

"Sheeps."

Meredith smiled. "They could be interns here one day. What if she wants to be a cardiothoracic surgeon? What if she wants to follow in your footsteps?"

"I won't be here."

"I think they graduate next June, so they would start as interns on July 1st. What time do you get back? Oh, that's right, August. The very next month. How funny."

"Mer… you're freaking me out."

"I've been awake too long. Did those test results come in yet?"

Imaginary test results never come in. "Uh, no. Still waiting."

Meredith hummed, digging into her chips again. She spoke while she chewed. "Did I tell you about Derek and the biochemistry teacher he despises?"

"Sounds riveting. Go on."

XxX

Owen stepped back from the door, taking a deep breath. He was glad Emmanuel would survive at least another night. People who had heard about the crash were putting together a candlelight prayer for him in front of the hospital later that night. Owen had no doubt he would find a home among the people who came out in his honor. He wished every mangled child had a following like that. His thoughts went to Collin every time he saw the baby, and he wondered what would have happened to him if Cristina had not adopted him.

He had seen his wife only a few minutes ago, but suddenly he missed her. He had already agreed to work late and he would have gone back on his word to keep her company if Alex wasn't going to be there. He felt better, just knowing someone was with her. She had seemed so tired lately. He wanted her to get as much time in with her friends as she could before they moved.

He walked slowly toward the cafeteria, thinking about the bitter leaves of a salad, when he noticed one of his residents trailing after him. It was one of the young men. Babcock.

"If you want to ask me something, ask me before I get lunch." Owen turned, putting on his patient face. Babcock had been a resident for almost a year now, but the poor kid was the opposite of a shark. If his hands and his mind were not so gifted, he would never have made it in this program. Owen held on to him for his potential.

Babcock came a little closer, nodding. "Uh, sir. Can I talk to you in private?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Dr. Hunt?" Owen cradled his forehead in his palm for a moment, and then glanced around. He stepped into the nearest on-call room and directed the kid in, shutting the door. "There. Private. What do you need?"

"I think… I think I saw…"

"Use your words." Owen rolled his hand, urging him on.

"I saw Dr. Yang and Dr. Korev together."

"So did I, about ten minutes ago."

"No, I mean, _together_."

Owen frowned. He was caught between surprise and doubt. "What?"

"She was naked, and he was close to her, and he yelled at me to get out."

Briefly, he lost the logical part of himself, and he felt anger stir up. Babcock noticed and took a step away. Owen shook it off. "You must have been mistaken."

"Sorry, sir. Uh, Dr. Hunt." Babcock stepped to the door and slipped through it, apologizing again.

Owen stayed where he was for a long moment, trying to come up with a good explanation for what Babcock had seen, but he came up empty. His mind refused to work. He left with a stiff jaw and went to pick up his lunch. He would talk to Cristina later. She had to have a reason.


	92. Episode

**Episode.**

**June 13, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina rested her head on the chair cushion, enjoying the view she had of a seizing dummy. It was spraying a hapless medical student with blood and screaming, its vitals were dropping, and for a moment it looked like the student would just throw his arms up and start sobbing alongside it. It was the greatest thing she had seen all week. It was a lovely stress reliever.

"Look at that. _Look at that_." Meredith handed her chips over, shaking her head in wonder. "What a beautiful thing. I could watch this all day."

"Should we tell them Phil is malfunctioning?"

"No. No. People malfunction sometimes."

"I think Phil has lost at least six gallons of blood so far."

"Okay, so they learn how to take care of zombies. Good skill."

"You got me there."

Meredith smiled at her, and then tilted her head seriously. "How are you feeling, Cristina? Be honest with me, please. I know the doctor said you were fine and whatever, but just please repeat it for me. I just need to hear it again."

"I feel fine." It was a good day. It really was. She was not haunted by an unexplainable sense of doom. Her resident had done well on his assignment. She had barely thought of Germany, and even when she did it was just a brief moment of darkness. Her friend needed more convincing. She turned toward her, put one hand on her shoulder for emphasis, and stated, "I am fine."

Behind them, the door opened. Owen hovered behind their chairs, sort of bursting into the room like there had been a fire in the hallway. Cristina and Meredith looked up, halting their serious conversation. Owen seemed to have something important to say, but he was distracted by the screaming, spewing dummy and its inept doctor. "What the hell is going on in there? Is Phil messing up again? You should go in there and unplug him."

"Phil is a zombie," Cristina explained, tilting her head to smile at him. She had seen him less than twenty minutes ago, and he had changed drastically. He looked suddenly stressed. "Everything okay? You look kind of like Phil."

Owen shook his head, glancing at Meredith and lowering his eyes. "Yeah. I just heard something interesting, actually."

"Oh, yeah?" Meredith motioned to the dummy. "Was it about zombie robots?"

"Or zombie-robot-induced PTSD?" Cristina added. "He looks so scared of it."

"No. One of my residents-"

Her pager went off. Cristina jumped three feet out of her chair and almost hit the floor. Owen steadied her. She checked it, expecting it to be a 911 from the orphan baby, but it was definitely from Alex. He had sent her an obscene doodle made out of numbers.

Owen cocked an eyebrow at it. "Explain that."

"Oh, it's just Alex. I think he wants me to look at Orphan Annie again."

"His name is Emmanuel," Meredith corrected.

"Whichever. I _did_ sew up his heart." She hated lying to Owen. He actually looked suspicious this time. "Here, take my seat. Watch the students play with Phil. It's basically therapy."

"I can go with you. I want to see Emmanuel, anyway."

"You look stressed." Cristina made a break for the door and slipped out of it, talking through the crack before she closed it. "Keep Meredith away from the controls!"

She rushed down the hallway, turning the first corner before he could look out to see where she had gone. She used to be so good at lying. She was losing her edge. She went to the same empty exam room and found Alex writing in a folder. He had labeled six different blood vials already. He also had a portable X-ray sitting in the corner, along with some phlebotomy supplies.

He barely looked up. "Sit down. Give me your arm."

She sunk into the chair by his table, whacking him in the shoulder. "Owen saw that stupid page."

"I worked hard on that."

"Just get it over with. I have work to do."

"Oh, please. You're on your meal."

"There could be an emergency."

"Right. Shut up and sit still."

"Your bedside manner needs some work."

"Technically it's chairside manner. Oh, and get over it."

She groaned and sunk lower in the chair, keeping her arm where it was. He prepped the area and slid a fat drawing needle into her vein. She flinched. He cocked an eyebrow. "Really? From a little needle stick? Cry me a river, Yang."

Cristina made a face at him, looking carefully away. She had never been bothered by needles before. Right now it was making her nauseous. Her stomach twisted into knots. Her arm began to burn like it was on fire. She looked back to make sure it was not up in flames. He had only taken three vials when the pain hit an awful threshold. She squeaked and grasped his hand.

He stopped, setting his vial aside. "Cristina? What is it?"

She shook her head. "Honestly, I have no idea."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." She gasped. "Just get what you need, and hurry up about it."

He did the fourth vial quickly and set the tray in a nearby sample fridge, returning to pull the needle from her arm. Cristina felt a jolt in her chest as the needle came out. It hit her so hard that she doubled over, and the gauze from his hand slipped and smeared blood into the crease of her elbow. For a split second the whole room went black.

When her vision returned Alex was on his knee in front of her, holding onto both of her shoulders. "Hey. Talk to me. What hurts?"

She just shook her head, unable to find her voice.

"Come on. If you're messing with me, I swear…"

She uncurled a little, pressing her hand over her chest. "Here. Right here. It feels like…" It was like someone had stabbed her. She started struggling to breathe. Before she knew it he had moved her to the table and she was lying on her back.

She stared at a bright overhead light, dazed.

"Right here?" Alex questioned, drawing her attention back to him. He was prodding different parts of her chest, from the soft tissue to the bone.

She nodded and swatted at his hand. "Stop. Just give me a minute. Just let me breathe."

Cristina lay flat, gasping, for almost a minute, her friend hovering by her side. He seemed to want to make a break for the door to get help, but he was also waiting for something – waiting for her to start convulsing or stop breathing. But her breath slowly returned and the pain in her chest faded. It pieced itself back together. She could feel her pulse in her throat, but the episode had ended.

Alex pressed his stethoscope to her chest, listening intently for several seconds, and then he grabbed her by one of her upper arms and positioned her on her side, listening to her lungs.

"Everything sounds normal." He shifted her to her back, his frown deepening. "What the hell was that? Stay right there. I'm taking a chest X-ray, and if nothing shows up on that, you're getting an MRI. End of story."

She nodded, beginning to shiver now.

He set up the portable X-ray, donned his radiation gown, and took a few images, coming back to her while they printed. He noticed her shivering and left the room to steal a blanket.

"I have to tell somebody. We have to get you checked out."

She shook her head. "What could they find that you can't?"

"Cristina…"

"Printer is done. Put the images up."

He frowned seriously at her, but went for the images anyway. He put them up on the viewer and popped the backlight on, surveying them with his arms crossed. Her past injuries showed up – fractures from years ago, now fully healed. Everything was perfect now. Callie had mended her entire ribcage with her metal contraption.

She was glad she did not see masses invading her lungs or wrapping around her bones, but the lack of them left room for mystery. It left room for fear.

"Can we at least tell Meredith? She might know-"

"No."

"Why not?" he demanded.

Cristina sunk at his tone. She rubbed the blanket on her face. "I don't know. I don't know."

Alex took the images down and tossed them, sighing. He folded his arms like he was going to yell again, but the anger faded. He seemed to notice her state of mind. She was on the edge of tears. He came over and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently from side to side. "Okay. Okay. We can figure this out. You're right. If I can't find it, it's not there. But I have to take you down for an MRI. If you want me to do this, that's the next step. I already booked you in."

She sniffled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. The room was spinning again, and he was the only thing that stayed still. Her fears built up until she had to speak, until the words came out as a pitiful whimper. "What's wrong with me, Alex?"

He drew back, planting a hard kiss on her forehead. "Can you walk?"

"What if I have cancer? What if I have cancer, and I die, and my kids don't have a mom?" She started crying. "There's so much I wanna do! I was so happy! Owen is so happy! Why does it have to be like this?"

He pulled her head against his chest again, heaving a heavy sigh. "Shh. I'll adopt your kids and raise them as my evil spawn."

Somehow that eased her mind. She shuddered. "In your _dreams_."

"I could just smother you now, save you all the dying. Do you want a plastic pillow, or one of the good ones from the on-call rooms?"

She laughed, and sniffled, and tried to pull herself together. "Second one, please."

"Okay. Dropped in the river, or fed through a wood chipper?"

"Second one, again. Sounds more dramatic."

"What would we be without drama?"

She pulled her head off of his chest, smiling at him. He was wearing a goofy grin, and even though his concern and well-earned maturity showed through, he was still the same man-child he had been the day they met. It comforted her. He was a comfort.

"MRI, and then… after that, we can tell Meredith."

He pressed her hair down with both hands, took the blanket from her shoulders. "Can you walk? I borrowed a wheelchair in case you wanted to ride down."

"I am not getting _pushed_ through my own hospital."

He smirked. "I was gonna put a blanket over you or something."

"Really stealthy."

Cristina cleaned the blood from her arm and walked to the door, trying again to suppress her hair. It looked awful. It looked like she had been in here boxing.

"Wait ten minutes, and then come out."

"What? Why?" Alex folded up the blanket. "I think that would look more suspicious."

"Seriously. I mean it."

"Why do you get to go out first?"

"Because I might have cancer. Every second counts."

"You can't play the cancer card yet!"

"Don't tell me how to live my life." She went to open the door, but stopped, turning to give her friend a quick bear hug. "And thank you. For being here. For being you."

He nodded very seriously, and then cracked a smile. "Admit it, you totally like me more than Mer."

She scoffed. "Don't be jealous of the favorite child. It's unbecoming."

"One of the lab geeks is coming by to pick up the samples. I plan ahead. I should be the favorite."

"If it makes you feel better, Meredith has never groped my boobs. You've done it twice now."

He was laughing when she slipped out. She made a path straight for the elevators, glad she didn't see anyone she recognized. She looked a bit like a crazy person. She felt like one after that episode. And again, just like the last one, she felt strange about it now. It seemed out of place. It came so suddenly, and ended so abruptly, that it almost seemed like a dream. But for over a minute she had struggled to breathe. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the breast, and then through the lungs. She could think of nothing that produced those symptoms, along with the panic, the vomiting, and the exhaustion, that would not show up on an X-ray.

It was beginning to sound serious.

XxX

Owen leaned against the corner, watching the exam room door. One of the nurses had pointed it out as the room Cristina had gone to. But why? He had looked at the charts and found this room unoccupied. He wondered if she just wanted to be alone, or if she was in there with someone else.

He shook that thought as soon as it came up.

Cristina was not the type to cheat. She was loyal. He knew how much she cared about him, about their kids. She would never jeopardize that. But still, the possibility loomed over him. He knew how much she cared about Alex, too. He knew they had a long history together. Cristina had known him longer, spent more time with him. For a while, he had lived in their home. Owen was forced to wonder if it had begun then, when he was away at work.

His lip curled involuntarily. He had to force himself to remain cool and collected, just casually checking out the door. Her meal time would end soon and she would make her rounds. She had to come out, and then he could go in.

Or he could just walk up and knock like a sane person.

He waited almost five minutes before the door opened. He ducked back a little, watching, as the man in question darted out and took a blanket from the rolling station nearby. He went straight back into the room, not even glancing down the hall.

Blankets were _not_ harmless. Why would they need blankets?

Owen grew more and more curious, and more heated, the longer he waited. Finally, when he was resolved to go in and see what they were doing, the door opened. Cristina slipped out. Her hair was roughed up and she looked flushed. She looked around, cautious, and went to the elevators. Moments later Alex came out, smoothing down his hair and clearing his throat as he made the same path. Both of them looked incredibly suspicious.

He walked by the nurses' station, listening to them bicker at the elevators.

"You were supposed to wait ten minutes!"

"I only have five more minutes for lunch! I have to eat _something_!"

"You're impossible. I can't believe I put up with you."

"I'll meet you downstairs. Relax. Robbins is covering my patients. I just want a sandwich."

"Gee, Alex, could you say that a little louder? Do you want a megaphone?"

Owen stepped around the corner. "A megaphone for what?"

Cristina jumped like she had seen a ghost. She looked guilty. "Owen! Uh, what are you doing down here? I thought you were, um, somewhere else."

"Nice," Alex commented.

She whacked him in the arm.

"I was, and then I ended up here. Long story. Funny story. What are you doing here? Emmanuel isn't on this floor."

Cristina was at a loss for words. She almost ran over a few people trying to get into the elevator when it opened. She dragged her partner in crime with her. "We were just heading over to see him now. I thought we would take a little walk. Alex wanted to talk about his rash."

Alex glared at her. She mashed something within the elevator.

Owen stepped up and blocked the door with his hand. He thought about asking her outright, with their coworkers looking on in surprise, but he bit his tongue. He just gave her a very pointed look and released the doors. "We can talk about this later."


	93. Quiet

**Quiet.**

**June 13, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"What do you want me to say?"

Meredith had her eyebrows up in a decidedly irritated way. She seemed to have so much to say while Cristina was talking, but now, in the wake of everything that had been said, she was silent. She was shocked. She stared between the two of them for several seconds.

"Say something, please." Cristina took her hand again. "Just tell me what you want. Just tell me what to say. I hate it when you're quiet."

Meredith shook her head, frowning, pulling her hand away. "Oh, I don't know, Cristina. How about explaining why you've been lying to me? How about explaining your secret escapades with Alex? Are we even still friends, or did I miss a memo somewhere? I thought I was your person!"

"You are my person! I just… I couldn't tell you."

"_Why_?" Meredith demanded, leaning in importantly. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She had the kind of fear in her that only came from repeated tragedies – the automatic loss-response. If something bad was going to happen, it was going to be a cataclysm. "I have to know this kind of stuff. If something is wrong, I want to help you. You know that. You _know_ that. You're my _best_ friend. We deal with this kind of stuff together."

Cristina looked away. She couldn't stand to see Meredith so emotional. Her voice came out muted, like a child making an excuse. "I'm telling you now."

"No more secrets, okay?" Meredith waited, and then insisted, "Okay?"

"Okay. No more secrets."

"Good." Her friend sat up a little, shooting a glare at Alex before she went on. Their relationship had only been salvaged recently, and Cristina felt bad for putting it back on the rocks. "So we need to come up with some ideas. Clear scans all around. What about the bloodwork?"

"I just texted Marvin." Alex pulled out his phone, tossing it to her. "He says he put them in. Give him a few days. I didn't get as many samples as he asked for. She kind of… had an episode."

"Right. Tell me about those. What happens, exactly?"

"You saw the first one," Cristina responded. "And the second…"

"She got a sharp pain in her chest, on the left side." Alex came over to their couch, pulling her shirt down a little to point out the exact spot. It was like he had it memorized. "She doubled over. She started having trouble breathing, almost like she had a collapsed lung, but when I listened nothing sounded abnormal. She got chills after that. It lasted about a minute."

"Bizarre." Meredith was shaking her head. "Have you changed anything recently? Food? Laundry detergent? Brand of scrubs?"

"Nothing."

The three of them sat back and stared at the wall, thoughtful. Cristina wished she could read their minds. She hated being the center of attention. She wanted to know what they thought of her right now – what they _must_ think of her.

"It's getting late." Meredith stood up, patting Cristina on the head. "I should get back to Derek. I swear, it's a wonder he doesn't accuse me of having an affair." She shot a pointed glare at Alex. "If something happens, I would like to know about it."

"Yes, mother," Cristina grumbled.

Alex crossed his arms. "Stop looking at me like that. She asked me not to tell you."

"So? You're not supposed to listen to crazy people! No offense."

Cristina laughed.

Alex sulked. "You guys just need to write down a set of rules and live by them."

"_Goodnight_. Both of you."

Meredith left and the living room got a lot quieter. Cristina stared at the door for a while, and then sunk down into the cushions beside Alex, trying to put a lid on her fears again. Whenever it got quiet, thoughts of cancer found their way through. It was the loudest possibility and it scared her the most. She thought of Izzie and the awful things she had gone through to get well again. She thought of how devastated Alex had been, and how many bills she left behind for him.

She turned on the television to chase away the silence.

Alex lifted her chin. "Hey." He was wearing a peaceful smile, easily pulling her thoughts out of the shadows. "Got any milk in the fridge?"

"I just bought a gallon like three days ago. Go for it."

"I mean breast milk."

"We need to talk about boundaries."

"Oh my God. For the babies! So we can get hammered!"

Cristina nodded. "Yeah. But no. I have three little responsibilities."

"Owen will be home soon. In what, an hour? We would barely be drunk by then."

"You underestimate my ability to throw down shots."

"Get the kids ready for bed, tuck them in, and let's get wasted. Come on. It'll make you feel better. You look bummed out. Alcohol takes that away."

Cristina liked his plan. If she was drunk, the thoughts of cancer and her memory of the episodes would fade away. Her inhibitions would shrivel up and die. She would spend a few precious hours without the fears that had been haunting her, without the anxiety. It almost sounded too good to be true, like nothing could put a dent in this odd, horrible situation, but she knew for a fact it was within her reach. It gave her a sudden, beautiful rush of hope.

She hopped up, snapping her fingers at Alex. "Under my bed. Get some cups."

Collin knocked over a whole row of army men when she came into his room. He already had his arms up, his eyes droopy, when she reached for him. It was past his bedtime. Her conversation with Meredith had gone longer than she had imagined. She found herself standing beside his bed, relishing holding him for the moment. He was warm. His little hands curled up against her neck.

She was reluctant to leave him after she tucked him in. She sat at the corner of his bed and watched him fade away, smiling whenever he twitched. _If I had stayed in Zurich with him, would any of this be happening?_ She let the thought creep in, and then pushed it away, because it also made her imagine a cold, empty bed, without Owen smiling at her in the morning. She imagined life without her twins, who grew strangely separate every day. She imagined life without Meredith and Alex. It was better here, even with the episodes. It was better that she suffered to stay.

Cristina did a quick sweep of his room before she departed, putting away his toys and making a path to the door in case he decided he would get up in the middle of the night. He crawled into bed with her and Owen at some point, and somehow she never realized it until morning, when she found the entitled toddler wedged between her and her husband.

She went from his room to the nursery and found Alex cooing over her infant son. Noah was already in his pajamas, which were sort of irrelevant at his age. Owen insisted they wear them. She leaned against the doorframe, yawning, to watch them.

"He looks like you," Alex said, glancing up at her. He took a sip from his cup, handing it off to her. He motioned to the other crib. "She looks like Owen. It's the damndest thing."

Cristina picked up the girl in question, pressing a kiss to her feathery hair as she laid her in his arms. She took Noah and returned him to his crib. "Her eyes are getting lighter. They were almost brown when she was born, but they're light blue now, like Owen's."

"And blonde hair." He ran his hand over her head, fluffing her pale hair. It was almost white. "It might darken up a little. Could be brown one day."

Cristina drank the rest of his alcohol, wincing when it burned its way down her throat. "Yeah. I can see that. She acts the most like me, anyway. Punched her brother in the face yesterday, and then farted on her grandmother's arm. I think it was an act of rebellion."

While he handled changing the baby, she wandered back into the living room. Her cheap bottle of liquor was sitting on the kitchen counter. She took a seat at the table, cradling it like it was one of her twins, and gazed at the front door again. She wondered, briefly, if Owen would be mad about this, and then decided it didn't matter. He could be angry all he wanted. She needed this.

"Give me that." Alex had his hand out when he returned. He drunk straight from the bottle, downing almost a quarter of it in one breath. He ended up coughing and gasping. "It tastes like gasoline. Why would you buy that?"

"I didn't buy it for the taste," Cristina responded absently. She refilled her cup and sipped at it, studying him. "Are you really only avoiding sex? 'Cause it looks like you're trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning." He cocked an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, "Whatever. Suppress all you want, as long as you're here and I can keep an eye on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Really? Are we still on that?"

"You went off the deep end. Yes, we're still on that."

Cristina rested her head on the counter, occasionally sitting up to drink a little. Alex knocked out most of the bottle, and then went looking for more. He could barely stand up. She watched him, and listened to an infomercial about fancy brooms, before she decided she should make sure he kept his sticky fingers off of her stuff. He was in her bedroom, digging through the drawers.

"Dude, I have three kids. I only had the one bottle." She hung onto the doorway, using it to keep herself from tipping over. It was getting harder to stay centered.

Alex groaned.

"But I have to change." Cristina put her empty cup on the dresser, yanking off her scrub top. She got trapped in it for several minutes before Alex finally decided to help her. "I have to change," he repeated. "Owen will come home and think I haven't done anything."

"You didn't do anything."

"You are just so helpful. So helpful." She fell, rolled around, and tried to get her bottoms off. "I could give you an award for this. Such a helpful award." Her friend became distracted, wandering around her room and looking at himself in every mirror. It was the strangest thing. "Hey. You break it you buy it, pal."

"You have so many mirrors." Alex squinted at himself. "What's with that?"

"You're useless." Cristina ended up on her stomach, and the energy left her. "It's cold."

"That's because you're naked."

"Duh."

"We drunk the bottle."

Cristina flipped over, frowning at him. "What?"

"The bottle. It's gone."

It made sense. Alex looked like he was about to pass out and she felt like she was floating away. She must have filled her cup up a little more than she thought. Alcohol had a way of sneaking into her mind, making sure she knew that she should drink more.

"We forgot to eat something before we drank." Alex stumbled a little on his way to the door. He set an empty bottle gently on her dresser and grabbed her arm, almost going face-first into the corner before he threw out a hand to stop himself. He pulled her up to her knees, and then to her feet, holding onto her while she tried to balance herself. At some point both of them had started giggling. "Would you stand up? I can't hold both of us up."

"Damn." Cristina tried to climb up to sit on the dresser, but she slid back down. "Damn. It's hitting me hard. I need to lay down. I need to… vomit. I need to vomit."

"Turn the other way. Away from me."

"This was a bad idea. You're a bad idea guy."

"You were supposed to be the limiter. You were supposed to cap us."

"I capped at… the bottle."

"Well, we made it. Yay."

Cristina heard a loud banging noise. Her stomach stopped squirming and she lunged out of the room. She was suddenly excited. Owen was home.

He stood at the door, frowning at her.

"Owen!" she crowed, staggering across the living room. She almost ate it when she made it to him, but he caught her, hoisting her up into both arms. She pressed her face into his chest, humming happily. "Hey, Owen. I made a bad decision. Can you carry me to bed? I was just there, but I left to see you. Here. I saw you here. Hi."

He smiled a beautiful, warm smile. "Hi. Somebody broke into the liquor, huh? Time for bed."

She threw both arms up, originally trying to capture his face, but missing. "That's for the best. I almost vomited. I didn't, though."

"Good for you."

He stopped and set her on the couch. She rolled, struggling to sit up. He was saying something but she couldn't really grasp it. She was facing the hallway, wondering where he had gone.

"I trusted you!"

Cristina whipped around, losing her balance and falling off of the couch. She clawed her way onto the coffee table and stared into her bedroom, watching Owen hoist Alex against the wall. He was hitting him. Alex's face was bleeding. Alarms went off in her head, distorted by the alcohol, but not entirely shut down. She tried to crawl toward them, but she lost her balance and hit the floor.

"Owen! What're you doing? Hey!" She forced her eyes to open. She was staring into the carpet. It was quiet again. She tilted her head to look at the bedroom, finding Owen standing in the doorframe, and Alex crumpled in front of him. "Hey! What're you doing? Why did you do that?"

Owen didn't answer her. She went for her phone, fumbling with it until a familiar face popped up in her contacts. It rang three times.

"Cristina? Did something happen?"

"Mer, hey buddy. I made a bad decision. Come over here and help Alex."

"What? What happened to him? Were you guys drinking?"

"Yes. He has blood on his face. Owen was hitting him."

"Why? Where are you now? Let me talk to Owen!"

She looked up and found Owen hovering over her, scowling, like he wanted to hoist her up and knock her out as well. She inched backward. "Just come here. Owen is super grumpy."

"I swear, if he lays a hand on you-"

Her call was cut off. Cristina stared at the phone, uncertain, and then realized she had been mashing buttons with her cheek. Suddenly she was not on the floor, but slumped on the couch. She tried to get a read on her surroundings but the room was tilting back and forth.

"I think you broke your nose." His voice came through a fog. He looked sad now. "Stay there."

Cristina felt a blanket over her shoulders. She snuggled into it, resting her head on her own shoulder. Her eyes fell on Alex again and she wondered, distantly, if he was a zombie.

"Look at me." Owen was in front of her. He held onto her face. "You really should have read the proof on that before you started chugging it. You guys are lucky you didn't get alcohol poisoning."

Cristina shrugged, smiled, and tried to get her hand to his shoulder. "Well, I can't even see. So mission accomplished."

"What mission?"

She narrowed her eyes, trying to recall what she was supposed to say. She knew there were things she had to keep from him, but they were all jumbled now. "Just to feel better. I feel better. It's so quiet. But you're here."

"Cristina… I need you to tell me something honestly. Did you sleep with Korev?"

She snorted. "_Gross_."

"Did you sleep with him?"

She matched his tone. "No." She realized, even in this state, that Owen had read something completely different in this situation. She laughed. "Oh, no. I was trying to change out of my scrubs. Didn't want you to think I was a bum."

"I don't think you're a bum. What about the exam room? Why were you in an exam room with him today?"

"Ask Meredith." Cristina yawned, stretched, and sunk a little further. "Can you stop being so loud? The kids are sleeping, and I'm sleeping, and Alex is sleeping, sort of."

"Is Meredith drunk somewhere in my house?"

"No, no. She's at home. She's coming here."

"Good. We have a lot to talk about."

He was about to leave. She could feel it. She reached out and clutched at his shirt. "Wait. Can you just hold me right now? I'm cold. I feel sick."

Owen sighed, scooped her up, and sat down with her, cradling her like a child. She pressed her forehead into his neck. She smiled, her mind fluttering between a hundred different things, never settling long enough to make her sad. She could feel her husband watching her. She wondered what he thought about, and she wondered if Alex was warm enough on the ground, and she tried to stay awake to see Meredith again, but the blackness swelled up quickly. She shut her eyes.


	94. Aftermath

**A/N: Hi, guys! I was thinking about capping this story at some point and starting a continuation in a new story, just to give you guys a break from the extra high chapter numbers, so drop a review and tell me if that's something you would like. If you have any suggestions for storylines for Cristina and Owen or other characters in the story, feel free to tell me about it! Also, we have almost made it one hundred chapters! Yay for us!**

XxX

**Aftermath.**

**June 14, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"Oh, he looks awful."

Cristina snorted and yelped. Evelyn looked at her like she had just taken a bat and whacked the poor pediatric surgeon one more time. She threw her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. "It was all just a really big misunderstanding. Look at him. He's fine."

Between the two of them, it looked like the hospital had started its own underground fight club. Alex looked like a raccoon. One of his eyes had a black ring around it and the socket was swollen. Owen had only hit him a few times, but her husband packed a serious right hook. Cristina had dark bruises running through her cheeks and under her nose from a nasal fracture. According to Owen, she and the floor had a disagreement – she might have even picked a fight with the coffee table.

Cristina had woken up beside Meredith that morning. Her friend was glaring at Owen, snarling like a cougar, while he got ready for work. He had apologized a few times to her and to Alex, who was dazed on the couch, but Cristina could barely remember it now. She had been lost in the fog of her hangover.

"I hope your daddy apologized for all this," Evelyn cooed at Noah, twisting her lips up when the baby made adorable gurgling sounds. She always went for Noah when she came over, like the wrinkly little thing had been implanted with a grandma homing beacon.

Cristina held back her laughter again, uncrossing her legs and folding them under her. "He did. Believe me. I've known Owen for what, nine years, and I don't think I've ever seen him that embarrassed. I really wish I had taken a picture."

"Did he… did he hit you?" Evelyn asked her.

Cristina shrugged. "I have no idea. But probably not. Owen is a big teddy bear."

"He never resorts to violence," Evelyn agreed.

Alex glared at her. She wanted to be sympathetic, but she ended up laughing at him. It made her face ache. "I'm sorry. I can't take you seriously right now."

"I better get compensation for lost wages." He turned to Evelyn. "I got sent home today because I was scaring the kids with my black eye. Apparently I look like an evil pirate."

"You could wear an eyepatch," Cristina suggested.

Alex huffed.

"What was the misunderstanding, anyway?" Evelyn shifted around, getting up to switch babies with Alex. She kissed her little namesake on the forehead and held her tightly. "Was it about the move to Germany? Something with the kids?"

Cristina wondered how honest she should be, and then the words sort of fell out. "He got it in his head that I was cheating on him with Alex – which, honestly, is gross – and got all macho."

"Oh. Why would he think that?"

"Just a nice, convenient series of events. Story of our lives."

Evelyn looked doubtful, but she was distracted by the toddler racing through the house. Collin paused to shout something unintelligible at them all, and then he went for his room, staggering and smashing into the doorframe on the way. Cristina held her breath, listening for whimpers, but he got back up and tottered on. He was like a crash test dummy these days.

"He has grown so much. His leg looks so much better." Evelyn looked toward his room, shaking her head and smiling. "Little firecracker."

"He did physical therapy for a while in Zurich and Owen and I have been working with him every night. As long as we keep it up, it stays nice and bendy." Cristina looked up too, smiling when she thought of her long nights fighting with that boy. "His leg appears operable, though. Arizona and Alex are going to wait until he's at least five to start looking into it."

Alex looked up, nodding his affirmation.

"He seems to get around okay," Evelyn commented.

"As he grows the injury will limit his range of motion." Alex sat up a little, switching Noah to his other arm. He had a natural talent for babies. He held the tiny baby like he weighed nothing, never jarring him, or raising his voice too much. "His tendons and soft tissue were damaged and scar tissue formed in their place, but scar tissue isn't pliable enough to support the rapid growth of a toddler. By the time he's six, the leg will lock up. We plan to extend the tendons and replace them with synthetic, printed material."

"Printed…?"

"We have new technology," Cristina cut in. "We can print prosthetics with real human tissue. We can make him new parts to replace the ones that got damaged."

"Sounds a little risky."

"Well we have some of the best in the field as friends," Alex provided. "Plus, you know, _me_."

"Yeah, yeah, you're great. Shower yourself with praise." Cristina thought about chucking a pillow at him, but she was sure it would somehow find its way to her son instead.

"I did. I do." He rubbed his face on his shoulder to scratch his nose, and then hissed in pain. His smile turned into a glare. "Owen needs to take a class or something. Spin pottery. Guy has a lot of rage built up inside."

"He was just jealous." Cristina stood up, uncomfortable with the criticism of Owen. She was the only one allowed to criticize him.

Evelyn was quiet for a while, content to hold the little one, but she continued her usual line of questioning when Cristina returned to the living room with a slice of apple pie. It was really just a plate full of whipped cream.

"Have you considered staying here with the kids while Owen does his job in Germany?"

Cristina snuggled into her arm chair, holding her pie under her nose. She was unbothered by the question, since it had come up a lot among her friends. "I did. I think it would be better if we all stayed together. Collin is his son, too, and he would miss his father. I would miss him."

"Not me." Alex leaned over and dipped his finger in her pie, dodging away before she got a chance to stab him with her fork. "Hey, easy. I have a baby."

"You're about to have a puncture wound."

Evelyn smiled. "I'll miss seeing these little ones, but I think I'll miss Collin the most. He is such a precious little boy. You did so good raising him."

Cristina dug into her treat, nodding to her mother-in-law. She was right. Collin was precious. He was a sweet, calm, considerate little boy. She could not hope for as much from her twins. She could already see the seeds of evil weaving into their tiny little faces. Collin was the pure one. It was also nice to know that Evelyn loved him, even if he wasn't her biological grandson. Cristina was particularly protective of the boy for that very reason, but she knew Evelyn and Owen considered him family. It made her feel better about his future.

Evelyn left after another hour of switching out babies and snuggling with them. She sat with Collin for a while and helped him construct a fort made entirely out of stuffed animals, and then said her goodbyes, vowing to come back the next day with another pie. Cristina encouraged her to think about cherries, but said she would also accept blueberry.

It got quiet in the house. Noah and Evelyn were not big on crying. Every time one of them piped up, Collin came running from his room to check on them, putting his little hand on their face and waiting until they stared at him silently to go back to his toys. It was also hard for them to cry when they were constantly being held. Cristina and Alex occasionally swapped, talking lowly about nothing in particular. Cristina enjoyed the calm. She felt relaxed when Alex was around, even if he had a nasty shiner, delivered by her very own husband.

"What do you think Mer said to Owen?" Cristina wondered after a while. Her friend had been very protective that morning while Owen tried to apologize, so she didn't imagine Meredith sitting down to have a friendly conversation with him. She would have yelled, questioned his sanity, and maybe tried to stab him. It was all possible.

Meredith had not been very forthcoming that morning, either. She had to go to work. She promised that she had not spilled Cristina's secrets, but she didn't elaborate otherwise.

Alex let his head rest against the couch. "Enough to get him to stop hitting me, apparently."

"Do you think she said anything about… me?"

"No. She said she didn't. But she should have."

Cristina frowned. "I keep telling you. I feel fine now. It was just a fluke."

"Deny, deny, deny."

She sighed. "I took your stupid tests. So lay off about it."

"Fine. But maybe you should think about what his mom said. You could always stay here while he goes to Germany. You could keep working at the hospital. We could alternate our shifts and I could take the kids sometimes, and Mer would take them, and Derek."

Cristina stood, deposited her daughter beside him, and stretched. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not worried about the move?"

"You admitted you were."

"I was just trying to get you guys to leave me alone."

"You're a pathological liar."

"And you're an idiot. Let's move on."

He smirked. "Whatever. We'll see what the tests say."

"Well the MRI was clean, so if I have cancer, it's teeny. I'm not sure what you're looking for in my bloodwork, but you probably won't find it." She caught Collin as he dashed through the house. He always heard it when she got up. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "And if you think I'm gonna cry on your shoulder again, you're dead wrong, buddy."

"I don't want you to."

"Good. I don't know why Owen would ever think I would sleep with you. Gross."

"Right?"

"Out of all the men I have access to, you're the least likely."

"I got it the first time."

"Sorry. I don't mean that in a bad way. I just mean… you're like my brother. I don't have mushy feelings for you. I don't have… other feelings for you. I like you and all, but not that much."

"You don't have to explain it to me."

"I just like saying it out loud. Obviously not everyone sees that."

Alex tipped his head back, watching her stroll around the living room. "You planning on visiting after the move?"

"Planning on missing me?"

"No, I need to decide when to take my vacation so I can avoid you."

She smiled. "Of course I'll visit." She swung by and patted the top of his head. "Besides, I'm expecting some baby news from you soon."

Alex groaned and got up. "Please, don't even mention that."

"What? Scared to be a daddy?"

"I want to have a kid. I really do. But Jo is baby crazy. She's seriously unhinged right now."

"Scaredy cat."

He scowled at her.

"Jo is young." Cristina set her son down, steering him toward the couch and letting him go. "I think she wants to stake her claim on you, you know? You have… strayed a little."

"I never cheated on her!"

"I didn't say you did. Not physically, anyway." Cristina held up her hands. She narrowed her eyes, sensing his hostility. "Do you love her, Alex? I mean, do you love her the way you thought you loved Meredith?"

His eyes hit the ground for a split second. "Of course I do."

Cristina wished she had not seen him hesitate. "I know she loves you. She went nuts when you were missing. It was like the world was collapsing around her. But it's important that you love her, too. One day she might step back and realize that you don't… and that would hurt. That would hurt more than anything."

"I love her. I just… It's complicated."

"Well, you need to uncomplicate it before you have a kid. Kids and complicated don't go well together. Trust me. Learn from my mistakes. Learn from Meredith's mistakes."

"I know that."

"I know. I know you know that." She took a step closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, though. I need you to make better choices. You're one of my people. I need you to be okay. I'm selfish like that, remember?"

He cracked a small smile, handing her Noah. "I have to get going. I don't want to run into Owen right now."

"I'm sure he would hit the same eye, just to be consistent."

"Night. Try not to get maimed, or die, or something."

"Right. You too."

Cristina watched him leave, surprised to find the sun setting. It was already eight. She had barely noticed the time passing. She set her son down beside his sister and chased down their older brother, stripping him and letting him run wild while she ran some bathwater. She sat near the twins while the tub filled, watching them stare curiously around themselves. As the days passed they became less wrinkly, bigger and heavier, with stronger eyesight and hearing. It had been four months since they were born – sixteen weeks to the day – and sometimes it felt a lot longer. Sometimes it felt like she had been with Alex, giving birth in his truck, just yesterday.

She put them in their cribs while she bathed Collin, worried something awful would happen if she turned her back for more than a few minutes. Something awful always happened. Her older son chose not to cooperate when it was time to get out, and his caterwauling got the babies crying. She was standing in the hallway, clutching a naked, dripping toddler, with babies screaming from the nursery, when Owen came through the door.

He ran to her, concerned, and then laughed. "Looks like you're having fun."

She was happy to see him. She shoved the toddler into his arms and went into the nursery, shushing the twins until they stared at her, confused. Owen followed, his presence enough to make Collin shut up. The boy clung to him, his eyes all red and puffy.

"I brought home Chinese." Owen put Collin down, allowing the nude boy to run through the house. Cristina rolled her eyes at him. "What? He likes the freedom."

"You're the reason he hates getting out of the tub. Can you handle bedtime?"

He nodded, his smile dampening. "So… did Alex hang around?"

"He got sent home from the hospital. His eye scared all the little ones. Nice job on that."

Owen winced. "I may have jumped the gun a little."

"You think?"

"And I didn't do that," he stated, motioning to her face. "Despite what Meredith thinks, you fell off the couch. And into the coffee table. And the floor."

She winced. She could almost remember it.

He looked pitifully guilty. "How about I apologize with a back massage?"

"I don't think Alex would go for that."

Owen laughed, drawing her into a hug. Both of them were damp from Collin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying his warmth.

His voice came a little lighter. "I may have catalyzed something today."

Cristina drew away from him, curious. "Should I be worried?"

"I was checking on Emmanuel and I ran into Arizona. She was worried about him getting passed up for adoption because of his condition. Apparently she talked to the people who came out to support him, and none of them were in a position to take him. I told her she had a lot in common with the little guy – both amputees and all. I think I saw a spark."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you think Callie will go for it?"

"God sent them that baby, Cristina. I know it."

"Oh, please don't start that."

"Yeah, yeah. I know you hate religious stuff."

"I don't hate it, I just… I don't want anyone to have credit for this. You know how they met that baby? His mother gave him up. He got in a horrible car accident. He almost died. He lost a hand, and most of his fingers, and he'll live the rest of his life with those injuries, with no memory of how he got them. He can get prosthetics, and I'm sure people will be nice and considerate, but at the end of the day who is really gonna be there for him? He'll miss out on so much. He lost so many things in that accident, Owen. He barely got to be a whole person. I hate it when you give someone credit for it, because if God did that, he's a sick son of a bitch."

"_Cristina_," he cautioned. "Are you okay?"

She drew out of his arms, clearing her throat. She could not grasp where this sudden bitterness was coming from. It made her chest feel tight. It made her feel like she was going to panic again.

"Sorry. Your mom came over earlier and I used up all my optimism on her."

He smiled a little, but didn't drop his concern. "Is everything okay?"

She kissed him, and then headed down the hall toward the front door. She wanted to admit everything so badly. It almost spilled out right there, staring into those pretty blue eyes of his. But she held it back. "Yeah. Just get the kids to bed. I want to take a break outside."

His expression darkened. "My kind of break?"

"No. Would you relax?"

"I am relaxed."

"Tell that to Alex's face."

The door closed before he could respond. Cristina got to the railing and leaned against it, taking a deep, settling breath. She could not lose control of herself in front of Owen. It wasn't an option.

She ended up with her phone in her hand, dialing a familiar number as the anxiety began to swell in intensity.

His groggy voice came out as a gurgle when he answered.

She knew he would pick it up. He always answered her calls.

"Shane. Hey. I need you talk me off of a ledge, buddy."


	95. Fireworks

**A/N: Hey guys! I start my new job in pediatrics tomorrow so if you notice chapters focusing more around children, you know why. I made sure I featured Callie in this chapter at the request of Hannah. If you have any suggestions please share them :)**

**XxX**

**Fireworks.**

**July 4, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"You know, I used to think fireworks-related injuries were hilarious. Now that my husband is standing up there, holding my son, gawking at the pretty colors, I keep wondering how safe this is. Who thought it would be a good idea to shook explosives into the air and stare at them while the tiny, flaming pieces rained down on a crowd?"

Cristina shook her head. "Crazy people."

"Right? So if these people were so crazy, why do we keep doing it? We just emulate the craziest things our ancestors do and expect better results because we evolved, or something. We have issues. We all have serious, major issues."

Cristina leaned into the wall, yawning. "Especially right after work. I think fireworks after sixteen-hour surgeries should be banned."

"Oh, yeah, how did that go?"

"Great. Love my new bladder."

"Oh. You had a diaper, huh?"

Some of the other parents glanced at them, suddenly concerned with their conversation. Cristina glared until they decided to mind their own business again. "Yes. It was awful."

"Did you talk to-?"

Callie perked up nearby.

"Yes." Cristina looked around, making sure Owen was not in earshot. He had gone to join Derek, holding Collin on his shoulders and letting the boy enjoy an unobstructed view of the colors. He had a set of headphones on to block out the intense popping sounds. "I saw the stupid doctor. He said the same thing the last one said. You look perfectly healthy. I see nothing wrong with you."

"I knew he was a crock." Callie shifted, scowling.

Meredith frowned. "Maybe we should-"

"No. No more doctors. I did everything you asked me to. I took all the tests. I passed everything. You guys said you would let this go."

"I saw you go into the supply closet yesterday." Callie sat up, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Cristina had a minor meltdown at work. She got a sharp pain in her chest, felt the walls closing in, and stuffed herself into the closet until the attack subsided. It was triggered by nothing, and by everything, and it terrified her so much that she emerged trembling, but she refused to let her friends baby her. She also refused to tell Owen.

"I was looking for a mop. You caught me. I steal cleaning supplies from the hospital."

"You know we're just looking out for you," Meredith insisted.

"I know. And you have. And I'm fine. So you can stop now." Cristina twisted her lips, wishing she sounded more convincing. She had to learn how to lie with honest eyes. "If it happens again after we leave, I'll go to another doctor. I promise."

"Liar."

Cristina shrugged. "I will. I can take care of myself. I _will_ take care of myself."

Meredith was quiet. She wrapped her arms around Zola and pressed a few kisses to her head. The little girl was afraid of fireworks, but as long as her mother was there she would tolerate them. She seemed to want to be a part of the group no matter how scared she was. Her closest friend was up front, sitting securely in Owen's arms and gazing at the sky. Sofia was fearless.

"Did you hear anything back about Emmanuel?" Cristina shouted over the intense popping of the finale. She had to lean closer to Callie to be heard.

Callie shook her head, frowning.

Seconds later, the fireworks ended, and the crowd cheered. Cristina got up, waving to Owen, who seemed to have lost them in the sudden mass of bodies. Derek was coming right behind him.

"We just turned in the paperwork yesterday, so we have a few weeks to go before they even tell us if we're eligible." Callie took her daughter from Owen, kissing her forehead a few times and holding her tightly against her chest. "I just wish it was faster, you know?"

"You know how long it took with Zola," Meredith said.

"Collin took almost seven months." Cristina paused, smiling when the men got to them. "You know, tomorrow makes a year since I adopted him. Officially, at least."

Owen kissed his neck, provoking giggles. "God. It feels… well, yeah, it feels like a year."

"I love reminiscing, I really do, but there are mosquitoes out here." Derek turned his son upside down, giving him a playful shake. "Does anybody know how to turn these things off?"

Cristina watched his hand, glad how far he had come in the last few months. He was still a little stiff in the mornings, according to his wife, but his body was strong again. He could run around and play with the kids for at least half an hour before lying in the grass and panting. He would never be a surgeon again, but he was a teacher now. He was enjoying his students, even though his summer classes were a little below his experience level.

Everyone seemed to be perking up now that summer was in full swing. She had a lot on her mind, like the logistics of a cross-continental move and her imminent separation from her friends, but being surrounded by them made her happy. She had no time to mope.

From the park, where dozens of families had set up blankets to watch the show, their group followed a sidewalk back to a crowded grocery store parking lot. Cristina found herself watching the sky, fascinated by the smoke trails left by the fireworks. She imagined them as ghostly arms caught in the wind, stretching over the crowd. She stared at them when the group reformed beside the cars. Meredith settled in beside her, pointing the smoke out to her daughter, and Callie hoisted Sofia on top of the car and let get a better view.

"It feels so unreal," Callie murmured, folding her arms and standing at Cristina's other side. "Look at us. Look at all of us. We're such adults now."

"You were running around with a sparkler twenty minutes ago," Cristina pointed out.

Callie nudged her with her shoulder, smiling. "If you wanted one, you could have asked."

It seemed that the conversation went on for a while. Slowly, steadily, the parking lot emptied, and the smoke cleared from the sky, and the stars came out. Sofia and Zola started running around the cars, and Bailey and Collin tried to catch fireflies. Owen and Derek broke off into their own little world, entering a deep discussion that seemed, to them at least, to be life or death.

Callie broke the silence between the three women.

"I keep a picture of Mark by her bed, just to remind her that he was alive, and that we loved him."

Cristina watched her face, curious about her sudden confession. She was reminded of the plane crash, and the days she had spent awake trying to keep that man alive. He had died anyway. He had sprung back, and then died, making her efforts worthless. It was still a bitter place for her.

"When I tried to explain what happened to Derek to my kids, I lied. I told them he was alive, but he was someplace secret, saving lives. Zola never believed me."

Cristina looked to her other side, frowning. "Why are we confessing?"

"Because you're going to leave us. We hate being left." Callie patted her shoulder, gentle, but insistent. "Which is why you have to come back, because otherwise we'll do weird things when you're gone."

Cristina wished she could escape the looks in both of their eyes, but she was trapped between them. She groaned. "Guys, seriously, I'm coming back. It's only for a year. Would you lay off?"

"Sorry." Meredith turned to wrap her arms around Cristina.

Callie did the same. "Me too."

Cristina sulked. She was not a fan of hugs. She slipped out from between them and held her hands up, preventing them from coming back at her. "Easy. You still have a week with me. And if you hug me again, I might bite somebody. You know I hate that."

"Fine." Meredith dropped her arms. "Fine. Fine. But I will get my hugs."

"Hug each other." Cristina looked around for her husband, flagging him down. He and Derek were wandering around the parking lot.

Owen returned, tailed by the former neurosurgeon. "Ready to go home, sweetie?" He glanced down, hunched a little, and then grabbed Collin when he ran past, holding him up by his good leg. "I got the hamster. Oh, no, he's a feisty one." He tickled the boy, tossing him around.

"Hamster?" Callie wondered.

"He nibbles his food now. It's his new thing." Cristina took Collin and bundled him up in both arms. "I doubt he makes it all the way home. I would put money on him conking out at the ten-minute mark. No, the five-minute mark. If we play smooth jazz, I give him three."

Meredith stared at her for a moment, and then wrapped both arms around her. She gave them both a strong squeeze, humming deep in her throat. "I miss you already."

"Jeez, Mer, we talked about this."

"Sorry. I just think about it sometimes, and I get all emotional."

Cristina could not muster up anger. She just smiled sadly at her friends and shook her head, looking away before the thought of leaving her made her start bawling. She was prone to it these days. She kissed her son on the cheek instead, getting his attention. "Hey, buddy. I want you to tell Meredith and Callie that I love them and that I have to say goodnight now."

Collin twisted, looked right at Meredith, and said, "Goodnight!"

"Close enough." Cristina flattened his hair. She smirked at Meredith, gave Derek and Callie a hug, and then started strapping Collin into his car seat. Meredith hovered, demanded another hug, and went to put her own kids in the car.

Owen said his goodbyes to Derek, cutting off what seemed to be a long, involved story before it could trap them there all night. "Tell me about it tomorrow."

When they were both in the car, waiting patiently for the traffic to calm down, Cristina felt a sudden glimmer of affection for her husband. She sat up on her knees and leaned over the center console, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips. She watched his eyes for a moment, smiling, and then kissed his forehead. "I love you."

He smiled back. "I know. Did you see a falling ice-cream truck? We still have time to move."

"I love you. I love that you love Collin. I love you with the twins. I love that you're friends with Derek again. I love that you took responsibility for your mistake with Alex." Cristina sat down and put her seatbelt on, nodding to herself.

Owen stared at her for a moment, thoughtful, and then he laughed and threw the car into drive. "What brought that on?"

"Soon we'll be in Germany, and it'll just be me and you and the kids."

His eyes glimmered. "Are you a little anxious?"

"No. No. I think we'll be fine." She kept her twisting stomach to herself, smiling to hide her discomfort. "We should get back before your mom decides to keep the babies."

"She would bring them back."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. The Evil One has awakened."

"Would you stop calling her that?"

Cristina giggled, her spirit lightening a little. She had been calling Evelyn the Evil One for a few days to distinguish her from her grandmother, but it was really starting to match her personality. She was still tiny and unsure about the world, and yet she had a spark of mischief in her. Owen denied it. Cristina adored it. Meredith and Derek loved her new nickname.

"Well, I refuse to call her Evie."

Owen shook his head. "I like calling her Pumpkin."

"You _would_ choose that. Redheads unite."

"Oh, now you have a problem with red hair?"

"No." She grinned at him. "I love your hair. I love her hair. I just think my name is better. It fits her. I have a feeling she'll be a little terror when she's older."

"Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

Cristina enjoyed their bickering, and she taunted him mercilessly all the way home. When they were finally inside, she ran ahead to snag her daughter, and sung the better nickname to her. She was delighted. Her grandmother was not amused. Collin provided a distraction while Owen looked on, cupping his forehead in his palm.

It was a good night. Nice and quiet. Cristina put the kids to bed and watched them for a while, glad she was not leaving them. She could only handle so many emotional goodbyes. Owen hovered at first, but he went to sleep early. He had to work in the morning. Cristina did, too, but she had trouble falling asleep these days. She went out to the back deck and sat on the railing, eyes on the trees. She settled into the silence, enjoying the chill of the night.

Her phone rang at midnight.

"Good morning."

Cristina smiled. "You sound chipper."

"Well, I got here at seven and the hospital is still standing. Every time that happens, I consider it a good day. I also pushed some more of that paperwork so my load is light today."

Shane had been working out some kinks in the ownership of the Institute, making it a publicly traded entity, and then organizing a board of directors. It was completely self-sufficient and it was attracting incredible cases and surgeons. He had been gushing about it for days. He had gone from the owner to a surgeon, and he was much happier. Contracts were being signed, surgeons were coming and going with trials, and the Institute was steadily growing.

"Look at you. Never thought you would be a businessman."

"I'm a surgeon now. God, I missed it."

"You never stopped being a surgeon."

"Yeah, yeah. So how is the packing going?"

"Oh, yeah. Got a lot done today. I looked at several boxes. Collin played in the packing peanuts. We were really in the groove." Cristina went to one of the deck chairs and lounged on it, looking at the stars. "Owen is doing most of it. He insists."

"How is he doing with all of this?"

"Over the moon. Completely happy, for once. No shadow. No anxiety."

"What about you?"

She swallowed, glancing at the house to make sure Owen was not looming behind the curtains, waiting for her to slip up. "Better, for the most part. I still feel the same but I can ignore it now."

"You must know how unhealthy that is."

"I know. You can bug me about it when I get there."

"I know what you're doing. You're doing this for him. You're ignoring whatever's going on with you because you want to keep him happy like this."

"Why does everyone insist on being my therapist today?"

"Because I love you."

She was stricken for a moment, and she lost whatever response she had planned. Her mouth hung open in a surprised expression.

"I just want you to be okay. You know I could care less about Owen. I don't say that to be mean, or to hurt you – it's just true. You're the one I care about. So if something is wrong, I want to be there for you. If someone is hurting you, I want to stop them."

She really wished he was closer, so she could punch him in the shoulder for saying that. It made her feel better, when she hadn't even been aware she felt bad.

"You're such a dork."

She could almost see his boyish smile. "Yeah, well, you're gonna have to live with that."

"I have this image of you waiting for me to get off the plane, holding a sign professing your love."

"That could happen. Don't test me."

She laughed. "We went and saw the fireworks tonight. Collin loved them. He was a little scared at first because of all the people, but when the lights started he just stared at the sky."

"I can't wait to see him. I wonder if he remembers me."

"It hasn't been _that_ long."

"It's been almost ten months."

"You saw him when you came to visit, remember?" She smiled when she realized how quick his response had been. "You knew that off of the top of your head, huh?"

"Yep."

"So you haven't been crossing off days in your calendar?"

"Nope."

"I believe you."

His voice dropped a little. "Do me a favor and hold it together until you get here."

He sounded very serious. She took a few calming breaths. "Will do. Goodnight."

"Goodnight. Call me anytime."


	96. Flight

**Flight.**

**July 12, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina was not a fan of goodbyes. She had actively avoided them most of her life. Only the critically important people got the privilege of seeing her on the last day. She was thinking about it now, wondering if she should cut that down to no one, while her friend held her in a tight hug. Until now Cristina had felt alright about getting on the plane, but suddenly she never wanted to let go. She wanted to hold onto Meredith, to keep the world from spinning out of control.

"Call me when you get there." Meredith pulled back a little, staring at her with red, insistent eyes. Her voice was scratchy. "And make sure you wear layers. If you see a dangerous thing you just turn around and you run in the other direction, okay?"

Cristina nodded along with her words. "Got it. No bears."

"I mean that. No sinkholes. No gunmen. No jumping in front of a bus to save someone. You just take care of yourself, and you take care of the kids. Stranger danger."

Cristina smiled. Her heart filled with longing. "You're gonna make me miss my plane."

Meredith looked up, to where Owen lingered with the stroller. Collin was asleep in his hold. It was not even dawn yet. She wiped her eyes, sniffling. "Okay, yeah. Go ahead. I love you. Don't forget to call me. You have to come back for Christmas. Just don't forget."

"I won't forget."

Cristina walked stiff-legged across the airport, giving Owen a weak smile as she joined him. He looked back at her friend, who had one arm wrapped around Derek, and then tilted his head at her. "You'll see her soon."

"I know. She acts like I'm moving to Antarctica."

"It's the hormones. Baby juice."

Cristina laughed. It was an accident, so it sounded a little insane. "We have to go before she makes the slow motion run across the airport and begs me not to go."

"One year. We'll be standing right here again." Owen leaned in to kiss her forehead, smiling.

Cristina felt a strange sense of foreboding. Would they really be here in a year?

"Hey." He caught her dark thoughts this time. He spoke in a whisper, partially to keep the toddler asleep and partially to keep it between the two of them. "I'll buy you a calendar and a big red marker to draw on it."

It was hard to walk away. She kept her eyes on Meredith until the wall blocked her view. She knew it should not have felt so absolute, but it did. Something inside was telling her this was more than a temporary goodbye. It was the same something that had been tormenting her for months, the something that Owen had no idea existed, and that her other friends detested.

It was the something that she was going to bring into her new home.

XxX

"Hey. Look. Meredith texted me."

Owen groaned. "We just took off."

"Callie and Arizona got approved. Four more steps to go!"

He smiled, glancing at the bright text on her phone, and then pressing her hand down. "Put that away. If a flight attendant catches you, we'll get scolded."

Cristina read the text twice more, grinning, and then tucked her phone into her jacket pocket. She had been worried about their adoption proceedings a lot more lately. Meredith had convinced her that they would be raising a little boy alongside Sofia and it made her feel warm inside.

She passed the time by staring out the window. Owen had taken the aisle seat, Collin was curled up between them, and both adults had a baby in their arms. Owen was entertained by the inflight movie, but she liked the clouds. It reminded her of the smoke left behind by the fireworks. It made her think of Switzerland, and the friend she had left behind. Clouds always lingered to torment her when the snow piled up against the door. Shane would go out with his trusty shovel and make a path to the street. Her memories chased the anxiety away.

It was a long, grueling flight. From the Seattle airport to the biggest airport in Germany, where they were set to get picked up by her former mentor, they were scheduled to fly for over ten hours. Cristina was restless by the end of the third hour, unable to find a comfortable position, while Owen sat straight up and dozed off, oblivious to her suffering.

She kept a careful watch on the time, occasionally switching out one of the babies for Collin, or vice versa. Owen had deposited Noah in the middle seat, so the formed a little nest. Collin woke up with a vengeance and cried his eyes out for a solid thirty minutes, irritated with the pressure in his head and furious that she would not let him leave the aisle. His tantrum was followed by the twins, who, in unison, kept their parents busy for at least forty-five minutes. Owen went back to sleep when they calmed down, but Cristina stayed up. She sat on her legs, twisted every way she could think of, and eventually put her head on her knees and groaned, just to rest her spine.

When the fifth hour rolled around, she squeezed past her husband and entered the aisle. He had been given first class seats by the army – three leather recliners with little screens mounted on a wall in front of them – but she disliked the isolation.

Cristina wandered down the aisles, avoiding flight attendants and getting glimpses at the other first class passengers. She found a lot of sleeping faces. Some of them looked vaguely German. She also debated whether people could really _look_ German.

Slowly, the seats got smaller, the aisles became narrower, and she saw a lot of uncomfortable people squished into the middle seats. She did her best not to make eye contact with anyone, but she enjoyed the change of scenery. It was not so much the people she liked, but the idea of them.

Someone grabbed her arm near the back corner.

Cristina froze, staring at the old Korean woman who had gripped her so strongly. She looked like she was in her nineties, at the very least, but it felt like she had been working out.

She said something in Korean. Cristina recognized the sounds, but she had no idea what the woman was saying. It had been so long since she had heard someone speak that language. Her grandmother had been the only one willing to use it.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I don't speak Korean."

"You came from the South?" the woman asked.

Cristina felt a strange draw to her voice. It reminded her of how her father used to talk. Her mother had grown better over the years, but she had started here. "Yes. Well, not me. My parents immigrated. I was born in California."

"Immigrated from where?"

"Gochang, I think." It had been so long since she had thought of that information. Even the name felt strange on her tongue.

"Sit down." She slid over a seat, offering the aisle seat to Cristina. She spoke Korean again, but the phrase was familiar to Cristina. She was introducing herself. Her name was Hye.

Cristina had no other plans, so she sunk into the seat. She watched the old woman, curious, and then asked, "Why are you going to Germany?"

"I was visiting my son. I am going home to Korea now."

"But this flight lands in Germany."

"I know. I have a long way to go."

Cristina bit her lip. "Do you stop every Korean you see walk by?"

"Only the ones I hear about all the time."

She had to admit, this conversation was getting interesting. "You hear about me?"

"You are my grandson's hero. He never stops talking about you."

"Your grandson is a doctor?"

"He just started university." She went through her bag, which was poised below her feet, and handed Cristina a small picture. It showed a smiling young man. "He has big dreams. Big shoes to fill. His father is an electrical engineer, works for the government back home."

Cristina nodded. She had to look away from the picture. It reminded her of her own father. When he died, her mother had thrown away all of his pictures to purge the house of his memory. She was remarried by then, and happy with her life, but his death hit her hard. She surrendered completely to her grief for _years_ before she found her way back. Cristina regretted her actions. She wished she had a little picture to pull out and show people.

"Would you mind signing something for him?"

Cristina stirred from her thoughts, smiling. She had never been asked for her autograph before. She watched, amused, as the old woman produced a pen and notepad. "His name is Wey."

"I've never heard that name before."

"His mother gave it to him. I argued against it, but they don't care what an old lady thinks."

Cristina liked this woman. She wrote out a little note to the kid and signed the bottom of the paper, handing it back to Hye with a strange sense of pride. She realized that she would have done the same thing if she encountered a legendary surgeon in college – she kept up with them like baseball players. Somehow she had made it to the other side, and it felt good.

She sat with Hye for a while in silence. Being near this woman reminded her of her grandmother, and while she only had a few vague memories, it opened up a channel inside.

"What religion do you practice?"

Hye smiled. "I am a Buddhist."

"I had a grandmother… well, she was my only grandmother, really. She immigrated with my parents and lived with us when I was little. She was a Buddhist, too. She used to drive my mother crazy with her lectures about passivism."

"It sounds like you loved her."

"Maybe. I can barely remember her. It was a long time ago." Cristina could finally place the robe. "I think she wore things like that outside of the house. I can… I think I had a miniature one. She would hold my hand, and we would go walking. I thought it was the best thing in the world."

Hye was nodding.

It came back one piece at a time. She was in a busy market in some crappy downtown neighborhood, squeezing between a thousand faceless bodies while she clutched a leathery hand. She remembered the sun, and the smell of strawberries, and her grandmother humming. She could see her face, bright and happy, and smell her homemade perfume.

When she looked back, she found Hye had dozed off. She slipped out of the seat and went walking again, slowly making her way back to her own seat. She made sure she whacked Owen on the way past him. Her husband stirred, grumbled, and shot her a glare.

"Oh, stop pouting. I want to tell you something." Cristina slipped by him, flopped into her seat, and leaned over the middle. "I just met the weirdest woman."

XxX

Cristina groaned, sliding down until she was barely upright. Collin reached up to make a dot with his marker on her cheek, giggled, and then drew a solid black line across his coloring book.

"You said that already." Owen looked up from his handbook, smiling at her. "If you want the seat to eject you, I think you should start trying different commands. Go for a caveman grunt. Or, even better, try to imitate the sound Collin makes when he wants your attention."

Cristina scowled at him. "I hate you. I hate you and your stupid perky face. How can you stand this? If I stay in this seat much longer I might actually die. Is that what you want? Do you want me to die, Owen?" She forced herself back up, rubbing her back. "I spend all day, almost every day on my feet. Look something up for me – it's called correct anatomical position. Sitting is awful. I hate this. I never want to do this again. I'll take a damn boat on the way back."

He listened to her patiently, holding back laughter. "You love sitting when you're at work."

"No, no. I hate it now."

"Why don't you go find your friend again?"

"Well, now that we've all been on this plane for eight hours, nobody wants to be my friend. Everybody on this plane hates everything right now, guaranteed."

"I think you're being a little dramatic."

"Eat me."

"Just try to get some sleep. You look exhausted."

Cristina groaned again, resuming her extremely slouched position. "I tried that." She sounded like a whiney teenager. "I just want this to be over."

"I think your boat idea might actually be better."

"Hell yeah it is."

"Well, just think about it. You only have four more hours to go."

"Why would you say that out loud you awful, awful person?"

He shut his book and hauled her back into her seat. "I'll go get you some pillows and a blanket. If you go to sleep now you might bypass the rest of the flight."

Owen left, but she snuck away before he returned with pillows. She went to the black of the plane, forgetting exactly where she had seen the woman. It was in a corner, but which one? She found unfamiliar places all around, and some empty rows. She stopped near one that seemed familiar and put her hand on the seat, frowning. Hye was gone. She had taken her purse.

Cristina flagged down one of the flight attendants and pointed out the seat. "Hey, can you tell me where the woman who was sitting here went?"

The young woman frowned, glanced at a folder, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That seat is vacant."

"I know that. But there was a person in it earlier. Where did she go? Old Korean woman, bright dress, can't miss her."

"Let me take a look around for you."

"Thank you." Cristina waited by the seat, and then sat down, tapping her foot.

She watched the flight attendant make a lap around the area, and then she disappeared behind a curtain into the next section. She was back before ten minutes had passed, looking confused.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there is no one that matches your description on the plane. Like I said, these seats are vacant. Can I help you back to your cabin?"

Cristina looked back at the seat, curious, and then shrugged. "No. I know where it is."

When she got back Owen was eyeing her suspiciously. She slipped into her seat and crossed her arms, her belly unsettled. Collin crawled on top of her and gazed out the window with sad toddler eyes. His presence relaxed her.

"You okay?" Owen wondered, prodding her shoulder. "Somebody back there I need to beat up?"

She tried to resist a smile, but it came anyway. "No. No. It's just… You know that woman I told you about? I went back to see her, and she was gone. And the flight attendant is pretending she was never there. I feel like I'm in a horror movie."

"Well we're one of the first groups to get off the plane. We can just catch her when she comes out." He handed her a pillow, and then drew a blanket over her knees. "Get some sleep for now."

Cristina did her best to get comfortable, creating a little cocoon for herself and retreating deep into the seat. She thought about the Korean woman in the back of the plane, but the longer her mind lingered, the more it seemed like a dream. She wondered if the flight attendant was right, and her lack of sleep had really start to affect her.

But the woman had stirred in her a deep sense of longing to see her father again. She thought if she went back to Korea she could find his brothers. Perhaps they had an old picture of him. Just the idea of it stirred a very old warmth in her, and an old sense of loss. It had been a while since that empty place had ached so much.


	97. Embrace

**A/N: Just to soothe some of your worries, Cristina does not have a brain tumor. But I must leave the rest up to speculation *evil cackle***

**XxX**

**Embrace.**

**July 14, 2017.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Cristina did her best to pretend she was uninterested in the conversation happening in her new kitchen. She could only hear half of it and it didn't sound like good news.

"But you never told me about that part. No, you didn't! Well, you were purposefully vague, then. I can't do all that. I have a family. I have kids to take care of. Did you think I was just going to…? Yeah, I understand that. Most of my time, yes."

She had her arms wrapped around her son, who was curled like a baby monkey against her chest, all four limbs clinging to some part of her. She had a blanket around both of them to combat the chilly air in the house – a result of Owen playing with the central air in the middle of the night, breaking it, and then blaming the poor maintenance guy. Her twins were snuggled in on her right side, always in her view because she distrusted this new house. Owen had assured her they were perfectly safe, completely surrounded by armed military personnel, but Cristina had never been comfortable with guns. She kept an eye out anyway.

"If you think we can do something like that. That would be great. Well, if we could divide it up. Okay. Okay. He's giving me a deployment rundown today. I'll meet you there."

She rolled her eyes. He had almost ended this conversation twelve times in the last two hours. She got the sense that his new job required him to travel a lot more than he had realized, and yelling at Teddy about it was his only recourse. It sounded like she had offered to negotiate the time away for him at least six times, but he kept going back to being upset. It was like he couldn't hear her. Cristina could tell he was stressed, so she decided to be oblivious about it.

He was quiet again, listening, and then he appeared in the kitchen doorway. He leaned against it, muscles tensed up, rubbing one hand through his hair. "Okay. Yeah. Yeah. I'm leaving now."

Owen hung up and appeared at the back of the couch. He kissed her forehead, and then rested his head on her shoulder, sighing heavily. He was all worked up.

"I have to go." He lifted his head up, trying his best to give her a smile, and then he kissed the side of her head. He looked and sounded exhausted, and regretful. "I am so sorry. I wanted to spend a few days here so we could all settle in together, but it looks like that won't be possible. I have to meet with Teddy and try to work out this headache. Hold down the fort. I won't be long."

She shrugged. "I have foreign movies. It's cool." She really wanted him to stay. She was reminded, viciously, of Switzerland, when Owen was not in her life. She wanted him to stay, but if she asked him to it would put another strain on him. He already looked defeated.

He kissed her head again. "Teddy is working on the other daycare spots. It's only a matter of time."

Cristina had planned on getting a job when she made it to Germany. She had some interviews lined up and she had compiled a new portfolio, but she had nowhere to stick the kids. She was going to have to watch them all day, every day, until two more spots opened up in the daycare. She dreaded being a full-time parent instead of a surgeon, but she was still feeling the drag of the thirteen-hour flight, so she was okay with it for now.

She only hoped Owen knew what he was talking about. She hoped she would not spend an entire year at home, letting her surgical skills waste away.

Owen left in a hurry, strangling his coat in one hand and carrying a briefcase in the other. He had been fiddling with it all morning. Collin popped up when the door slammed shut, suddenly fearful, and then he started crying. It was like someone had pinched him.

Cristina tried to sooth him, pulling him closer. "Only I get to cry around here."

He cried and cried, bringing the volume up until his siblings started crying as well. Collin was also feeling the flight. His sleep schedule was ruined. He was in a new house, and it was cold, and his dad was gone, and his toys were all packed into boxes, and the altitude had probably changed. He had no idea what to do with himself. She couldn't blame him for his tears.

"And that was how they all died," Cristina muttered. Her phone rang as his cries reached a supersonic level. She answered in a shout. "Cristina's house of babies, how may I help you?"

She heard an engine start up. "So I take it you made it."

"Don't feel bad. I was supposed to call Meredith, too."

"Is that Collin crying? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He caught a little demonic possession over the ocean. No biggie."

"Well I have tomorrow off. I thought I would drive up there now, if that was okay."

Honestly, the whole day brightened at the prospect of seeing Shane. She pretended think about it. "I dunno. Owen just left. He's super touchy about me spending time with men these days."

"I'll bring you some chocolate."

"Come on over, then. What're you waiting for?"

"Give me like… three and a half hours."

She glanced around for a clock, and then withdrew her phone to check the time. "Got it. You know, I am roaming so bad right now. I should go get my service plan changed."

"You do that. I'll start driving."

Cristina stayed in the house. Her legs still felt a little wobbly and occasionally she had to sit by the toilet and dry-heave, so going out in public was not an option. She managed to quiet the kids and assemble the twins' cribs, leaving them out in the living room with babies wiggling around inside. Collin followed her wherever she went, fearful of this new place, and whenever something made a loud noise he tried to climb up her leg.

She wished she could have relaxed as the hours passed. She shared trivial texts with Meredith explaining that she had survived, and that the house was nice, and that Owen was certainly there with her, and a short, uninvolved call with Alex, who promised he would call back later. She wandered around her new home, up and down the wrap-around porch, and all over the heavily fenced backyard. She wandered, and looked at things, and tried to think about them, but her mind was elsewhere. It was still clogged up. She felt like there was a cloud in her head. She had not seen the Korean woman again, though she and Owen watched almost every passenger come off of that plane. She feared she had been hallucinating and wondered what had brought it on.

She went back to the tests over and over again. Everything was fine. Her scans were clean. Her blood was clean. She had no signs of cancer, no signs of damage to her brain.

She would rather have something physical to deal with. When she thought about this all being psychological, purely a product of fear, or the final loss of her mind after so much trauma over the years, it terrified her. It only made her feel worse. She could not grasp at that problem. She could not understand it, or begin to fix it.

With no alcohol and no therapist to hum and listen to her problems, her concerns magnified all afternoon. When Shane finally arrived she was on the porch, rocking furiously in an old chair. It had been four hours and she had heard nothing from Owen. He wasn't answering her texts and her calls went straight to voicemail.

She could have been sad, or worried, but the flowers were blooming outside, and birds were chirping, and Shane was in her driveway. He parked his little smart car on the curb and walked up, stepping around bees, his familiar face wreathed in sunlight. He looked the same as he had the last time they had separated, with a beautiful, boyish smile and bright eyes.

Cristina jumped down the front steps, crossing the yard and throwing her arms around his neck. It was a scene from a movie. She felt such an immediate, powerful sense of relief that she let out an audible gasp.

When she finally pulled away, she smiled at him. "Hey."

He laughed. "Hey."

She hugged him again, briefly.

"Do I get to come inside?" he wondered as she separated from him again, "Or are you gonna strangle me some more? I mean, I'm all for it, but your neighbors might talk."

She stepped away and waved dramatically to the front steps. "Do come in. Pardon the boxes."

Shane jumped up the steps, but stopped short to look at Collin in the swing.

Cristina gathered the sleeping toddler, holding him against her chest. She was glad he had finally lost his battle with sleep, but hated that it came right before Shane got there. "He got longer," she said, presenting him to her former student. "Last time you saw him he was all torso. Now it's all about the legs. And his eyes got lighter, but just a little."

"Look at that hair!"

His hair was thicker now, growing in luxurious curls all over his head. He looked like a girl from behind. She thought it was cute, but Owen wanted to cut it. She always won that argument.

Shane looked uncertain. "Can I hold him?"

"If he wakes up and freaks out, it's not you. He's been freaked out all day. New place and all."

Shane took the toddler delicately in his arms, smiling. He bundled the boy against his chest. His eyes sparkled with affection. It reminded Cristina of when he had held Collin in Switzerland. "It's like he was born yesterday. Do you remember?"

"Do I remember Phyllis going completely insane in delivery? Yes. Yes, I do. I held him." Cristina tilted her head, watching her son's face, suddenly overwhelmed with her first memory of him. "I held him right after he was born, until the paramedics came to transfer him. I never thought I would be his mom. I never thought I would even _have_ kids."

Shane smiled again, but this time it was a lot older. "I guess we both grew up."

"Just a pinch. Not too much."

She led her friend inside and gave him the grand tour of the house, glad Collin stayed asleep the whole time. When she made it to the bedroom she took the boy and laid him in the center of their mattress – the bed frame was in pieces nearby –, stacking pillows around him and hunting through boxes until she found his favorite superhero blanket. She lingered for a moment to watch him, making sure he would remain asleep when he sensed he was no longer being held, and then she cracked the door and turned off the light.

She met Shane in the living room. He was sitting on the only piece of furniture that was completely assembled, aside from the cribs. Owen had bought a couch on the way to the house, deciding they needed something to crash on when they arrived.

"I like the house," Shane said. "But I can see there's something wrong."

"It's a little chilly. We just got in last night and went straight to bed, so nothing is unpacked." Cristina flopped down beside him, stealing a sip of his soda.

He took his drink back. "You know what I meant."

Cristina did her best to sound innocent. "What? With me? Nothing's wrong."

"Come on. When you left Zurich you were glowing."

"So, I stopped glowing. Whatever."

"You didn't just stop glowing." He set his drink down, now much more serious. "You look sad. You look tired. It's not just the flight. When you called me the other night-"

"I was just having a moment."

"What's going on with you, Cristina?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You don't have to tell me. Just let me make you feel better."

She laughed. "Somebody feels special today."

"I am special. I am a few months away from the end of my fellowship. I work in a world-renown cardiothoracic hospital." He patted the seat beside him. "And I'm also your friend. I used to be your best friend. And you're back now, so I intend to retake my title."

Cristina considered saying something sarcastic, but she gave up. She leaned into his shoulder, recalling all the times they had taken the same position after a rough day at work. It felt like she was home again. It felt like the past ten months had not happened, and she was herself again, just coming back to the house after performing one of her trial surgeries. She felt guilty because she was relieved.

"Is it bad that I missed this?" Cristina wondered to him. "I really, really missed this."

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong now?"

She tilted her head back to get a good look at his eyes. He still looked like a kid to her because she had met him when his career was just beginning, but he was unmistakably older. He had grown over the years, and even since she had left. Somehow the kid had gotten left behind.

But he was still her friend. No matter how much he grew up, he was still her friend. He was no longer her student, no longer her subordinate. He was far from the intern she had met over five years ago. But he was still Shane. When she let herself realize that, her voice broke a little, and she rested her head on his shoulder, and told him the truth.

"I'm just so… I'm so scared, and I don't know why."

She told him everything. She told him the things she had left out over the phone. She told him the things she had kept from Meredith and Alex. She told him, and she cried on his shoulder, and he told her over and over again that it was going to be okay. She wanted to believe him so badly.

"I am not this person," Cristina admitted at last, drawing away from him a little to look at his face again. She shook her head, trying to get this point across. "I am not this person… this person that I became. I don't even recognize myself anymore."

He appeared very serious as he brushed her hair back across her forehead. "I recognize you. It's okay that you changed. You're supposed to."

She wished she could get him to understand, but she had failed. She laid her head on his shoulder again and stayed silent, her own words echoing over and over again. She had never said it out loud before. It felt awful. It felt like she had opened up too much. She felt ashamed of it, ashamed of how she felt about it. She didn't want to be this person anymore.

"Listen. I'm gonna cook you a nice dinner. You're gonna eat the chocolate I brought you, and maybe take a nap to get over that jetlag. You'll feel better in the morning."

He was wrong. She nodded anyway.

"Or we could just sit here."

Cristina looked up, wondering if he understood a little more than he said. He was smiling at her. She dragged one of the pillows from behind her and laid across his lap with it, staring at the TV, letting his presence drag out some of her darkness. He was quiet for a while, and then when a movie came on without subtitles he started narrating it for her. He said nothing else about what she had told him, leaving her plenty of breathing room.

Slowly, her chest felt lighter, and her thoughts ebbed away. She listened to his dorky interpretation of what the Japanese movie stars were saying. She took deep, filling breaths and let his familiar voice soothe her.

"When I first met Owen, I was having a really bad day."

Shane paused his dub, watching her, waiting for her to go on.

She twisted around to face him, stretching her arms up over her head and narrowly missing socking him in the nose. "I was having a really bad day because I forgot how to do a simple stitch. I killed someone. Owen told me that we learn from our mistakes. I never really got that. I never wanted to make mistakes. I was the kind of person who just got it right, you know?"

"Did you get hit by the nostalgia bus?"

Cristina smiled, but it faded quickly. Her spirit sank again. "I made a lot of mistakes. Bad things happened to me. Sometimes I wished I could run away – sometimes I _did_ run away. What does that make this? Is this running away?"

"No. You moved to be with your husband."

"I moved because… I'm not even sure why. He brought it up and I felt like it was the right thing to do. Just like that." Cristina turned back on her side and shut her eyes. "I'm glad you're here." She yawned. "So tell me about the Institute. I want all the gossip."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm tired of talking about my issues. Tell me about yours."

Cristina listened to him, glad to hear his familiar voice, and to hear about the people she had left behind in Switzerland. She checked her phone every now and then, responding to Meredith or sending a stupid picture to Alex. She was also waiting for Owen to call her back.

His text came in the middle of the night, stirring her from a dream.

_Got held up. Will be home tomorrow. Love you._

She stared at it, and the light attracted Shane, who tilted his head. He was wide awake. Cristina glanced at him and put the phone back into her pocket, trying to keep her thoughts bottled up.

Shane put one of his hands over hers and whispered, "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"It's okay if you're not."

"I am. It's nothing. He just has a lot to do."

"If he knew-"

"Well he doesn't. And he won't." She curled up on her side, shutting her eyes tightly. "Just drop it, please. I want to go back to sleep."


	98. The Rabbit Hole

**The Rabbit Hole.**

**July 16, 2017.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

"Do you think they have those little curbside ice-cream trucks in Germany?"

"I think that might be a Swiss thing."

"If I mailed you one of the kids, would you send me something from one of those trucks? Oh, get it from the red one that parks down the street from the hospital. I like their business model. Feed off of the sick kids. They get way more pity ice-cream than the healthy kids."

Shane laughed. "I think you might be getting off topic."

She looked behind her, at the stack of boxes waiting in the living room, and decided she would rather sit right where she was, on their only piece of furniture. It was a nice couch. "No. I think I have great focus. I am focusing on avoiding unpacking."

"You have to make a phone call."

Cristina groaned. "Do I have to?"

"You said you were curious, and I know for a fact you don't get curious. You have an obsessive personality. You become obsessed. If you want to know more about your dad, just call and ask. How hard can that be?"

"You've never met my mother. And she has this weird emotional block about him. Anything else and she's mean as a snake, but if I bring up dad, she shuts down."

"Don't you have anything of his? You could look it up yourself."

"Oh, gee, why didn't I think of that? I could just look for his Korean birth certificate, because they're so open and sharing. Newsflash: Even if I had it, I can't read Korean. I never learned it. And I don't even know what his name was before he immigrated. He changed it to Noah."

"Well, good luck with that phone call. I have to get back to work."

"I meant it. We can trade. Baby for ice-cream."

"Goodbye. Call your mother."

She rolled her eyes when the call ended. He was such a prick sometimes. He was also right. She had no other way of sating her curiosity about her father. If she could just get her hands on one picture, something to remember him by, the sorrow inside would give her a break.

Collin sauntered into the living room, sensing the sudden silence. She plucked him up and cradled him, rubbing his disabled leg while she dialed the number.

"You have to make sure I stay calm," she said to her son. "Otherwise I might find a way to murder your grandmother through the phone. I could make it happen. I think the odds are in my favor." She waited through several rings, until her mother picked up. Her stomach twisted. "Hey, mom."

She heard a surprised, sarcastic gasp. "I can barely believe it. Big, famous surgeon deciding to call up her lowly old mother. It must be a slow day in the hospital to get a call from _you_."

Cristina ground her teeth. "Yeah, yeah. I wanted to ask you something."

"And she doesn't even ask me how I am doing. How sweet and considerate of her. She doesn't want to know how her brother is, or how her father is – the man who raised her from when she was a little girl. She just wants a favor. So sweet of her."

She had to stop herself from throwing the phone. "Mom, would you listen for a second? I just-"

"Since you asked, I will tell you, your brother Wyatt got into that fancy surgery program in Seattle, like you did. He wanted to tell you but you never answer your phone when we call."

"Okay, for one, stop calling him my brother, and two, how fricken' lovely for Wyatt. I almost peed I was so excited. I need to ask you about-"

"And your father retired last month. He finally put down his tools. We live on that golf course you used to play on when you were little."

She had a hard time forming words. She wanted to buy a plane ticket, track her mother down on that stupid sunny golf course, and strangle the life out of her. "If you would just listen for a second, I could stop wasting your time."

"Fine. What do you want? I have a hair appointment soon anyway."

"I wanted to know if you kept any pictures of dad."

Her mother's voice darkened, losing its sarcasm. "You know I didn't. Why do you ask?"

"I was just… I wanted to see him. It's been so long. What was his name before you guys came to the States? Do you remember where his brothers lived?"

"Gochang, like the rest of his family. Why are you so interested all of the sudden?"

"I just want to know. What was his name?"

"Wey."

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Every thought ended in a big question mark. She fought hard to speak. "What did you say?"

"His name was Wey. I'm not sure his brothers are still alive. Most of them were older than him, and they lived in poverty. If they lived this long it would be a miracle. You could try to track down your cousins. I am not sure they speak English, though."

Cristina stuttered. "Can I just…? Do you remember…? My grandmother… did she ever take me shopping?"

There was a long pause this time. Her mother cleared her throat. "Oh, yeah. You loved that woman. You always wanted to go with her, and you always came back messy. I swear, you liked her more than her own parents. I think it was all that religious nonsense."

Cristina felt an empty place open up inside. "What was her name?"

Again her mother paused. Her voice came a little quieter, a little hesitant. "Hye Yang. It was longer in Korea but she shortened it when we moved. I have to go now." Her mother rushed her words, and a door opened in the background. "If you wanted to talk later, I'm sure we could work something out and find out more about his family."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Have fun at your appointment."

Cristina hung up. She let the phone fall onto her knee. It slid onto the floor with a loud bang, making her jump. She almost flung Collin off.

She could barely think for a moment. She felt like someone had stabbed her in the chest again, like she was losing air too rapidly to survive. She pushed her son aside, standing and trying to make a break for the door, but her legs gave out under her. She sunk to the floorboards and pushed herself onto her knees, sitting back, trying to gather herself.

She had been hallucinating. It was not something simple, like a strange sound or a wisp of color in the corner of her eye, but a full blown hallucination. She had seen a person sitting in that seat. She had signed a piece of paper. She had carried on a conversation with her. Even as she thought of it now, the specifics were fading away. What color was her dress? What color were her eyes? What did the picture of her imaginary son look like? She had introduced herself at Hye, and now the name was echoing in Cristina's head. She had heard it before. She had heard it a hundred times.

_You better bring her back clean and on time, Hye!_

_It is nice to see you again, Hye. Look at how big your little one has gotten!_

_Do you want to go with Hye today, angel?_

_Hye ruined her appetite, feeding her all those sweets!_

It was jarring. It had been so long since she had even thought about it. But the sound of her name created a blossoming warmth inside. She could sense that she _had_ loved her, but as she reached for it, as she tried to grasp the memories they had shared, they all slipped away.

She scrambled for her phone, following her first instinct and calling Meredith. She only let it ring two times before she panicked and hung it up.

She had suffered a complete break from reality. It had lasted several minutes, at the very least. She could not bear to say it out loud, to admit to Meredith that something might be seriously wrong in her head. Meredith would check her into a mental institution. She would tell Owen, and his newfound purpose in the army would be ruined. Her kids would be taken from her. She would be forever marked as a liability.

Her phone rang. Meredith was calling her back. She threw it at the far wall to stop it from ringing. Collin jumped and whimpered, reaching out for her.

"No." She held up her hand, keeping her distance. "No. Not now. Just stay there."

And then it hit her.

She doubled over as a wave of nausea rolled through her. She thought she would vomit, but she ended up curled on her side, clutching her chest, waiting for the stabbing pain to go away. Her mind ran rampant with pieces of conversations she had heard forty years ago. She saw the woman on the plane again, and then an empty seat, and a one-sided conversation with a ghost.

She saw herself sitting there, talking openly to someone who had died many years ago. It was her worst nightmare. She could no longer trust what she saw.

Collin came over and crouched in front of her, peering curiously into her eyes.

For a while it stayed that way. Cristina shook, and cried, and tried to pull herself together, and her son stared at her, confused, and then settled down beside her. He was a loyal little boy, stalwart in the face of her episode.

When it was over she pulled him into her arms and held onto him, using his warmth to find peace.

"Sweetie," she said, sitting him back, holding him against her knees, "Mommy is sick. Mommy is really, really sick. But I love you. I'm not gonna let them take you away, okay?"

He nodded.

Cristina pulled herself together one step at a time, making it to the couch, and then lying down to rest her aching head. Collin curled up on top of her. Through everything, the twins were silent, sleeping through the evening again as the rhythm of that horrible plane ride continued to mess with their sleep cycles. She began to rationalize, blaming her hallucination on the plane. It was just a fluke. It was just a coincidence that it happened around the same time as her episodes.

She was not dying. She just had an anxiety problem, and that was manageable. She could handle it on her own. She could handle it without causing Owen any undue stress.

XxX

Her door burst open in the early morning hours. She sat straight up, staring around groggily, gripping the remote in case she had to use it as a weapon.

It was Owen. He shut the door and came over to her, taking note of the destroyed phone lying near the wall. He took her face in both hands. "Hey. Are you okay?"

She batted his hands away, her jaws parting in a yawn. "What? Why?"

"Meredith called. She said you weren't answering your phone."

Cristina looked regretfully at the pile of parts on the floor. "Collin thought it would make a good airplane. Obviously, he was wrong."

"You can't pull crap like that, Cristina. I was scared something had happened to you."

She managed to wake up a little more. "I didn't pull anything. The phone broke. What did you want me to do, send you a letter? We don't have a home phone."

Owen struggled to find another reason to yell. He motioned to the twins. "How long have you been sleeping? Did you even give them baths?"

"Uh, last time I checked, there were two of us."

"I was working."

"You're home now. Bathe away. And by the way, I gave them baths yesterday, while you were _working_." She turned angrily toward the TV. It was unplugged. Collin liked to run around the house and unplug everything he could reach.

Owen glared at her for a moment, and then ran his hand over his hair. "I'm sorry. All this running around has me on edge. I shouldn't take it out on you."

She twisted around, tugging on his hand. "Come over here."

He smiled and joined her on the couch, pulling her halfway into his lap. He kissed her neck, the unmanaged fuzz tickling her skin. "I'm sorry I've been gone so much. I just got so caught up in army life. I didn't realize how much I missed it."

She straddled his lap, dusting his hair away from his forehead. "Is it gonna be like this when you actually start in August, or is this just orientation stuff?"

"I already told them I have a family. I'm more of an overseer anyway. Teddy is just giving me a rundown of the whole operation in case the chain-of-command stuff is necessary. Mostly I'm just an administrator who works normal hours, so when it _actually_ _starts_, I'll get off at five every day."

"And you can take the kids while I work the night shift."

"Exactly."

Cristina snuggled into his chest, glad when he wrapped both arms around her. She was losing the last of her panic from earlier, forgetting her worries now that he was home.

But it only lasted a few precious moments.

"I want to stay, I really do, but I was supposed to come back once I made sure everything was okay here." Owen pulled her face back, cupping it in both hands.

Cristina was disappointed, but she suppressed it. She gave him a quick smile and got off, grabbing Collin and heading toward the bedroom. "It's okay. Just be quiet when you get home. No more kicking in the door like an angry lumberjack."

He smiled. "Got it. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Owen." She stopped in the doorway to give him a convincing, harassed smile. "Go to work. I can hold down the fort."

Cristina laid out on her bed, letting Collin take up most of his father's side. It was okay. At least she didn't feel like she was sleeping without Owen. She held onto the fleeting relief he gave her, but as the morning pressed on and dawn approached, she lost it. She lost herself to the fear. She let her mind run wild with the possibilities – brain tumors, eventual psychosis, schizophrenia, panic disorder. She stared at the ceiling and ran with them, burning inside. She felt alone, even when she had her son right beside her.


	99. Haunted

**Haunted.**

**July 20, 2017.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Cristina stared at the television, not registering what was happening on screen. Her mind was elsewhere. She ran her hand endlessly over Collin's back, doing her best to focus on the voice buzzing in her phone. Meredith sounded so far away now.

"She had the nerve to insinuate that I was the one who induced her stupid piggyback patient to have a stupid heart attack in her stupid OR. She questioned my stitches, Cristina!"

It had been a quiet couple of days. Owen was gone most of the time, getting tours of the city and going on fancy dinners that she and the kids were not invited to. When he was home, he was always guilty, and Cristina did her best to ease his concerns. She had stated that she was fine so many times that she had almost started believing it, until the headaches started. Every now and then her hand left her son and went to the side table, where she gripped a bottle of red wine by its base and sipped from it. She was careful to mute the phone to keep Meredith from hearing her swallow.

"I wish you would have picked someone else. Your whole department is in disaster mode. Okay, it might have something to do with the boat that capsized, but part of it is her fault."

Cristina took another sip of her wine and unmuted the phone. "I didn't choose her."

"You did. A hundred years ago, when you left for Switzerland."

"Oh, yeah." Cristina muted the phone, took a sip, and then responded, "She never took the job, though. She just went back home to wherever and dealt with her family."

Meredith paused for a split second. "You sound… slurred."

"Just tired. It's late here."

"Oh, crap. Sorry. I keep forgetting." She moved some things in the background, and Cristina heard a door suction shut. "And I've been ranting this whole time. Dr. Pierce is just messing with my head. Maybe it's because she's doing what you're supposed to be doing. It bugs me."

"Just for a year."

"Well, how is everything there? Did you see the sights? Did Collin finally settle in?"

Collin was still terrified of everything and she hadn't left the house since she got there. She had mostly sulked in her pajamas, avoiding the light of day and rejecting Shane when he offered to come over. "Yeah, yeah. Everything is great. Germany is pretty. Small, but pretty. Shane is three hours away. He basically lives here. We went to this extravagant restaurant last night… very fancy. Owen cooked tonight."

"I almost wish you were unhappy there, so you would come home."

"Way to be a pal, Mer."

"I have to get back to work. Don't get too comfortable, okay?"

"Got it."

Cristina was getting better at lying. She felt a little hollow inside because nothing she said had any meaning. She reasoned that Meredith would not handle the truth very well. It was best for her to know very little, and if someone found Cristina doubled over in bed, dead from an undiagnosed brain tumor, it would be easier for Meredith to move on. She also had logical reasons for her lying. She was exhausted. With nothing to do and nowhere to be, her sharp mind was settling into hibernation. She had no desire to explain her situation to anyone, so she lied about it. Lying was easier. Lying was quick. It kept the conversation short.

She drank until the bottle was empty – the bottle Owen had bought for dinner that evening. He had never showed up. He had texted her an apology and promised to make it up for her the next night. She doubted it. It was the middle of the night, and he still hadn't called.

She was thinking about Owen as she set her son on the cushion beside her and started toward the kitchen. She was thinking about breaking into the second bottle of wine, barely making a straight line across the hall, her thoughts fuzzy, her head throbbing, an empty bottle in her hand, when she saw it. She was almost certain it was a dream.

For a moment the whole world stopped.

She dropped the bottle. It shattered at her feet.

His memory was suddenly alive, freed from a web that had been built over a lifetime. He was right there at the beginning, his face evoking a deep ache in her soul.

He smiled at her, hesitant, and lowered himself to her level. She had not even realized she was on her knees. He fell into a crouch and put his hand on her face, speaking quietly, warmly. She could barely understand him. It was like he was underwater.

It struck her that this was not real.

Cristina scrambled to her feet and ran for the bedroom. His image stirred and vanished. She slammed the door behind her and locked it, sliding down against it to keep it shut. Her heart ached. She could barely breathe. He had stolen the breath right out of her lungs.

And then he was banging on the door, scratching at it, screaming at her.

"Not real…" she murmured, her voice trembling around her words. "This is _not_ real. This is a hallucination. Auditory… visual…" Her chest throbbed, and then she clutched it as a sharp pain rolled through her. "Sensational. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay."

She sat there for several seconds, trying to get a grip on reality.

"Mommy!"

Cristina looked up sharply. Her son was outside the door. He was crying. She couldn't bring herself to open it. She repeated her diagnosis over and over, trying to force her mind to accept it, trying to chase away her fear with logic. She failed.

Finally, she jumped to her knees and dragged him into the room. She locked the door again, went into the bathroom, and locked that door as well. She ended up curled in the tub, holding onto her sobbing son, doing her best to navigate her own terror. She was losing that fight. She could still see the image of him clearly in the living room.

It was the first time she had seen her dad in decades.

When her heart settled down a little, her hearing came back. She heard the little ones crying in the nursery, their shrill voices distorted by the walls Cristina had put between them. It was too late to go after them now. She could not get herself out of the tub. She knew what would be waiting in the hallway and she couldn't face it.

Cristina shut her eyes, holding onto Collin tightly. She tried to coax herself to sleep. If she slept, she would wake up alright again. Everything would be okay.

Everything had to be okay.


	100. Broadening

**Broadening.**

**July 20, 2017.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

She woke to an obnoxious banging sound.

Her head was on fire. She stared, dazed, at her distorted reflection for a solid minute before she realized she was looking at herself in the faucet, and she was curled up in the bathtub. Collin had his head resting on her thigh, and when she stirred, he looked up at her and sniffled with big, puffy eyes. Slowly, the alcohol drained away and she found herself in reality.

She found herself in an awful, horrible reality.

Cristina drew her son up to her chest, patting his back when he started crying. He must have been hungry by now. She could barely remember what had driven her to seek shelter in the bathroom, but she knew it was terrifying. She had to have a good reason for barricading herself in here and using the faucet as a pillow. Collin shifted from crying to wailing when she tried to get up.

She heard the banging again. It came louder, from the front of the house.

Cristina threw one arm out of the tub and deposited her crying toddler on the tiles. He sunk to his knees and sobbed, staring at her open-mouthed. She slithered out after him and staggered to her feet, giving herself a onceover in the mirror and shouting "Just a minute!" toward the door.

She looked like hell. Her hair was crumpled up and sticking out in every direction, her face was gaunt, and her cheek was red from resting on the faucet.

"Shh. Shh. Come here." She scooped the toddler up and went for the door, taking a moment to figure out how to unlock it. She wondered how the drunk version of herself had even managed to turn the old lock. Once she was out the noises from the hall hit her.

Both of the twins were crying.

"Okay, okay. I get it. I may have had too much wine." Cristina pushed their door open and withdrew when the smell of urine hit her. Her first glance at a clock – the colorful animal clock on the wall between their cribs – gave her a shock.

She had been out for twelve hours.

Sunlight poured in over the twins as they threw their limbs around, protesting their lack of food. She dropped Collin in the rocking chair and tried to salvage the situation, growing irritated with the constant banging on her door. Someone really wanted her attention.

"Everybody just calm down for a minute and let me think," Cristina pleaded, wishing the three crying children would relent, and that whoever was knocking at her door would get hit by a rogue ice-cream truck. Her head was pounding. It was hard to get a thought in around the ruckus.

She changed the twins and rushed into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding gashing her feet on a broken pile of glass. It was a wine bottle. She groaned when she found she had depleted her reserves of breast milk. She switched to the formula and started mixing it up, dragging around the child that had attached himself to her leg. She yelled another delay to whoever was waiting at the front door, at the same time admiring their patience and hating them for it. Reasonable people would just realize they should leave. She was almost tempted to tell them to go.

But her husband made it clear that he wanted her to interact with their neighbors. He thought she was going to become a batty old recluse.

Cristina left the bottles on the counter and went to the door, scraping her hair down with both hands before she peeked through the peephole. She had trouble believing her eyes. She saw an old, familiar face trying to look back at her.

She threw the door open.

Teddy looked up, surprised by the sudden sound of air whooshing past her, and then she smiled. Her eyes went straight down to Collin, who was probably carrying around a loaded diaper just like his siblings. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You've been banging on the door for like twenty minutes."

"Right. Yeah." Teddy stepped past her without invitation, scratching the back of her neck. She glanced around the house. "Owen said you guys liked the house. I'm glad."

Cristina was suspicious at first, thinking Owen had sent his friend to check up on her, and that she would report on the chaos she was witnessing, but Teddy looked like she had other things on her mind. She barely seemed to register the disorder in the house. She went into the kitchen, got the broom and dustpan, and started sweeping up the pieces of glass, saying something about the finish on the floors and smiling. Cristina took the opportunity to take Collin into the nursing. She changed him while her former mentor cleaned in the living room.

She brought one baby out at a time, handing Noah to the other surgeon and settling down to change his caterwauling sister. Collin waited nearby, his eyes bulging with tears.

"Owen never stops talking about these two." Teddy changed Noah and then bundled him up in one arm, having a brief battle with him to get him to take the bottle. "He is so… in love. And I can see why. You guys have such beautiful children."

Cristina nodded. She surveyed her friend, curious of her purpose here. Teddy had visited a few times since the move, but she was occupied by the same things that Owen was, so Cristina rarely saw her alone. She had known Teddy for years, since she was a resident, in the early days of her relationship with Owen, so she was familiar with her mannerisms. They had worked together on her miraculous patient, John Baxter, the inspiration for her experimental surgery to correct Leighton's Defect. His case had been the basis for saving many young lives.

She knew Teddy as a bright, assertive woman with a soft side for children. Sometimes she stared off into space, consumed with thoughts from her time in the military, and sometimes she was bright and bubbly because of the work she was doing in their field, but she was never like this.

Now she seemed sad. She seemed regretful. She seemed determined.

"I need to ask you something."

Cristina waited, wondering if she would ask why Collin seemed so stressed. She felt guilty for sleeping so long and drinking too much the night before, but she had no idea what was bothering him. She drew him into her arms as she waited, throwing a leg up on the couch to keep Evelyn from rolling off if she decided to be adventurous.

"Or, maybe I should start by telling you something." Teddy started to babble. Her voice was jittery, like she had been having coffee for every meal.

Cristina realized this was not about her poor mothering decisions. "Teddy?"

"I got my grant, you know." Teddy flashed a beautiful, brief, and genuine smile. It took several years off of her face. "But, uh, my partner-"

"Remus Demarco."

"Yeah. Remus broke his back playing golf and-"

"How do you break your back playing _golf_?"

"-he has to back out of the program."

Cristina swallowed. She had been following the progress of this grant, from its conception years ago to its fruition. She felt the same devastation as her friend, like she had lost her own incredible opportunity. It was the cruelest thing she could imagine. "Oh. Teddy, I'm sorry. I know how much this meant to you. Is it possible to go without him?"

"No. The program was created for two cardiothoracic surgeons to work in tandem. Many of the conditions will probably require two experienced surgeons to tackle, maybe even three in some cases. I was told I have to find a replacement for Remus, or postpone the program." Teddy held Noah up, giving her a few kisses on the cheek. Her eyes filled with light. "It was going to be one of the most ambitious genetics projects in recent history. I was going to travel the world… broadening our horizons… discovering previously unknown conditions… pioneering medical technology and procedures… probably get a few named after me… I could have won a Nobel Peace Prize – imagine all the lives I could have saved."

Cristina was imagining it. She was practically drooling. It gave her butterflies, just to imagine the mysterious conditions manifesting all over the world. She was not a fan of exploration, but she would trek through any jungle if it gave her an opportunity to look at a unique heart. She lived for that kind of discovery. She was made to learn.

"I could call Shane. He could point out a few qualified replacements."

Teddy narrowed her eyes, giving a little half-smile and sitting back. She sighed, releasing the heroic wind with which she had been speaking. "I bet he could. Have you been sleeping well?"

"I guess. Why?"

"You seem to be missing the obvious here."

Cristina frowned. "What am I missing?"

"I could only think of one name when they told me to find someone of unquestionably skill and dedication to the field. One name came to mind. Just one."

Cristina felt her heart sinking down into her stomach. "W-What name?"

"I want you, Cristina. I want you to come with me."


	101. Spiral

**Spiral.**

**December 25, 2017.**

**Port Said, Egypt.**

**Five months later.**

Sometimes the world slowed down. Cristina used to think it was silly for people to say that. She knew the world couldn't _really_ slow down. It was always spinning at the same speed, hurtling through the universe on a steady course that was rarely interrupted. She attributed their words to adrenaline and the sharp details their minds held onto when things got rough. When they were afraid, people started taking snapshots of their surroundings, seeing things in brighter colors, picking up and storing more information. It was not supernatural or special, but a part of survival.

Sometimes she wished that it wasn't.

She stopped when she sensed the riot picking up. For weeks the streets had been a strange place. She had visited this northeastern city over a dozen times since leaving Germany, but she had always felt safe here – until now. People were chanting in the streets, protesting new leadership. In the months they spent trying to be heard, they got frustrated. Cristina could tell exactly when the mood changed, when the sunny, crowded street would become dangerous.

Her companion stopped beside her. Teddy was a war veteran. She could also sense danger. "We should go back and circle around," she offered. "Can you hear that hum?"

"I hear it," Cristina responded blankly, carrying on suddenly. Something was different this time. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew it was not protesters making the racket. Her skin prickled with anticipation.

It was the riot police. She had only seen them on the news until now. Years of turmoil had spawned the awful black-geared guards who marched in lines and thrust their shields at anyone in their path. Cristina walked up a nearby staircase, up against a residential door, to see what they were doing to get the crowd murmuring so much.

"We need to go," Teddy insisted. She was right beside Cristina, always loyal, but she was tugging on her arm. She only had eyes for the police. "Cristina, I mean it. Come on."

"What are they saying?" Cristina braced her arm on the apartment door and got on her knees on the wide stone border to the stairs, looking over the crowd. She could see the police forming a clearing, where one of them, with more stars on his arm, was addressing the gathered crowd. More people swarmed from all over the city, filling every crevice with concerned looks, foreign languages, and ghostly murmurs.

Suddenly the door behind her opened. She only gave the man inside half a glance – she looked just long enough to see that he was staring at her.

"What are they doing?" Teddy asked the man.

"He says we are entitled."

Cristina whipped around, surprised the man had responded. In a city this size, on a day like this, she expected to be ignored. It was like New York City without all the Broadway shows.

"All they want is representation." Teddy came up on the porch with them, hovering near Cristina. She crossed her arms and shook her head at the gathering. "I've been following this. Molokya was elected without the majority vote. He basically bought his way into power."

The man nodded, his expression darkening. "He is saying he wants nothing to do with us – with spoiled children. He wants to… make a point."

Cristina watched the leader, listening intently despite not being able to understand his language. His hands spoke enough. He was angry and entitled. He knew he was in a position of power and he was purposefully taunting the protestors.

"It is going to get violent out here soon. You should come inside." The man gave them both a glance, and then headed for his door again.

He was not fully inside before the first shots were fired.

Cristina rolled off the stone and hit the ground, her heart seizing up in terror. For several seconds the world was only made up of gunshots. _Pop. Pop. Pop_. Smoke filled the air. Screams and explosions worked their way into her ears. _Pop. Pop. Pop_. She looked across the concrete she had landed on and saw streams of people clawing past each other, smoke chasing them, bodies dropping and being trampled in the panic.

And then she was being dragged. Her chin hit the doorframe and the door slammed shut in front of her. Teddy was shouting something over the sound of gunfire. Cristina could barely find the ground beneath her feet. It seemed that they flew to another room, and another door slammed, and she found herself huddled together with strangers in a corner, a mattress lying across the wall.

"Hey, hey. Shh." Teddy had her arms around Cristina's shoulders. She squeezed her tightly, though between her consoling words she let out soft whimpers. She was trembling.

Cristina did her best to calm her breathing_. Pop. Pop. Pop_. Beyond the darkness of their shelter the city seemed to descend into chaos. It was evening when the shooting started, but soon the sun faded. Everything went quiet outside. Floodlights streamed through the window every now and then. She heard voices in the distance, talking over speakers, and sirens coming and going down the once crowded streets. She had to wonder what was happening outside, but her body was resolved to never go out again. She was somewhere beyond shaken.

The man from the porch got up and kicked the mattress down. Everyone jumped. He checked the windows, crouching, and then flicked the light on. He said something in another language, and then looked at the two women and nodded, reaching out a hand for them.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Arabic." Teddy took his hand and stood, a little unsteady. "But thank you for taking us in."

The man nodded. "I was just telling them we are safe. You can stay here for the night, if you need to. I think this part of the city will be on lock down until then, at least. We are not in danger here, but I think it is best to stay inside until things have calmed down."

"You're so calm." Cristina took his hand next, struggling to her feet. She felt nauseas and her ears were thrumming with the sound of gunfire, but she managed to anchor herself to his face. He looked like nothing had happened at all. "Has this… happened before?"

"Not so close to my home, but yes. I am usually participating in the protests." He gave a little smile, pushing back his fluffy brown hair. "I am the one who is usually getting shot at. I regret whatever happened out there, but I enjoy the change of pace." He glanced up, sighing at the bullet holes in the walls. "I will have to fix my walls again."

Cristina stared at the holes, unsettled by how close they had come to catching a stray bullet. Her desires shifted rapidly and all she wanted was to go back to the hotel – on the other side of town – and chug wine until she couldn't see straight.

"I need to… get out of here." Cristina left the room, pausing in the hall to stare at a few more bullet holes. He really did need to fix his walls. She went for the front door.

"Cristina. Hey, wait!" Teddy caught her. "He said we should stay."

"Yeah, that's not happening. He might actually be insane." Cristina tried to figure out the lock. It was much more complicated with trembling hands. "Let go. I'm going back to the hotel."

The man followed them, pointing out an old corded phone on a desk in the hall. "You can call your embassy and have them arrange safe passage for you. I am sure Molokya would like to avoid more political trouble."

Cristina glared at him. "Or I could just walk out. If they shoot me, they shoot me."

"She has a thing with guns," Teddy tried to explain. She pulled Cristina back a little. "You just have a thing with guns. Give yourself a second to breathe. Be rational."

Cristina gave up on the locked. She stumbled forward a little and rested her forehead on the door, taking long, deep breaths. Teddy was right. She hated guns. When she heard gunfire the first thing she thought to do was curl up in a ball and cry. It was an irrational reaction to a trigger – it was something she had worked on with Owen in therapy for a while, only he had been the patient, not her.

"You are also remarkably calm." The man had his hands clasped together. He didn't seem to know what else to do with them.

Teddy smiled at him, still trying to pry Cristina from the door. "I was in the army. And she… there was a shooting where we worked. Let's just say we're used to disasters."

"I am sorry. Because of the circumstances, I am being rude. I am Adham. The others you saw in there are my family – my mother, my sister, and my nephew. Come into the kitchen. We have plenty of food and water, and medicine, if you need it."

XxX

Cristina ended up in a small kitchen, sitting across from a strange, fluffy-haired man. He stared intently at her even while listening to the stories Teddy told him about their travels, and Cristina stared back, partially lost under the wine he had provided, still caught up in the riot they had narrowly avoided outside, and a little intrigued by him. He was ruggedly handsome, with dark beige skin, long, wavy brown hair, and pale brown eyes – and he looked familiar. She knew she had seen him somewhere before.

"I thought Muslims couldn't drink alcohol." Cristina spoke in the middle of a story Teddy was telling. She set the bottle of wind in the middle of the table, keeping a protective hand on it, and stared the handsome man down. "What kind of Egyptian are you, exactly?"

"If you are asking if I am Muslim, I am. And I do not drink. I keep wine in the house for my mother. She renounced her faith years ago and enjoys a glass with dinner."

Cristina continued to stare at him, still trying to place his face.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think that makes her a bad person?"

"No. I think it makes you a bad person." Cristina drew the bottle back and took another swig, relaxing into her stiff wooden chair.

"You do not like Muslims?"

"Oh, please. I could care less about that. I just don't trust people who don't drink."

Adham smiled and chuckled. "You are an interesting woman, and very laid back for a surgeon."

Cristina snorted so hard that she almost spit out her wine. Teddy even gave a dramatic scoff.

"Okay, you are laid back for the moment." Adham looked between them, amused. "Earlier, when you were trying to break the lock on my door to escape into the streets like a wild animal, you were not laid back. But now you are. It only took a little time."

"And a lot of wine."

Teddy sat up and tried to take the bottle, frowning when Cristina tucked it against her chest. "I think you need to slow down," her friend said. "Do I have to wrestle with you again? You know I always win. You have no upper body strength."

"Oh, go to bed."

Adham cleared his throat and stood. "We have a guest bedroom in the back. I can show you to it. I am afraid the bed is not made. I was not expecting refugees."

While they went into the hallway, Cristina focused on the bottle in her hands. It was a very fancy wine, with neat, Arabic symbols printed across the label, and it tasted like vanilla and blueberries. She wanted to turn the bottom up and drink the whole thing, to sate her desire to forget what she had seen in the streets, but she stopped herself. She just stared at it.

Her host returned and took the seat beside her. "I told your friend I would look after you."

Cristina kept her eyes on the bottle.

"Your friend says you have a drinking problem."

She looked over. Adham was closer than she had originally thought. His arms were folded on the table, his head rested on them. He was looking up at her with pretty, pale eyes, through a mess of hair, with a warm, thoughtful smile illuminated by the colors of a muted television in the corner.

Her voice came out a little raspy. "I only drink if I have a long day."

"How often do you have these long days?"

She took a deep breath. "Often."

"You mentioned a patient here in Port Said. How long do you think you will spend here to care for him? How long do you usually stay put for cases?"

"His heart is all kinds of messed up." Cristina shrugged. "It could be another week. We're not… caring for him. We just study their conditions and try to figure out something we can do for other effected by it. So far… let's just say the cases we see are end-stage."

"That must be hard for you."

"It is." Cristina found herself being honest. "When you become a doctor you do it to help people… to make a difference in their lives. But that's not what we're doing. We just… observe them, and study them, and take tests until they die."

"Do you regret doing it, then? Do you regret taking this grant, or what was it?"

"No. Believe it or not, seeing death every day is valuable. It teaches a lesson you can't read out of a book." Cristina leaned in until she could smell cinnamon on his skin. "You should know that."

His eyes became a little hooded. "Why is that?"

"You have a medical degree on your wall." Cristina tilted her head toward it. She could finally put the pieces together. She saw his face framed, smiling, in a medical journal. He was a neurosurgeon. He had never worked in the United States, but he had appeared in her periodicals from time to time for his work in pediatrics.

Adham smiled suddenly, brilliantly. "I do."

Cristina tried to grasp at those articles, to remember what was remarkable about him. "You do some kind of charity, right?"

"I work with children from small towns, villages, and tribes across Africa." He sat up, breaking the haze his voice had created in her mind. He pulled a picture from a pile of junk on the table and laid it in front of her. "Egypt is as far north as I have ever lived. I was born in South Africa, to Israeli parents, and these are my patients."

He was in the middle of the photograph, grinning with his arms around as many of the children as he could reach. It was blurry, and the wine kept her from recognizing details, but she could feel the warmth emanating from the picture, and from the man presenting it. He had a lot of love for it.

"So does that make you African, or Israeli?"

"I consider myself a pilgrim, actually."

Cristina smiled. "I like that."

"I read that you were from Beverly Hills. Did you immigrate?"

She took another sip of wine, and then slid the bottle to the other side of the table. "You know who I am? You never said that."

"You never asked." He came to crouch by her chair, taking one of her hands. "But yes, I know who you are. I was made aware of your visits to Port Said. We may be sprawling, but we are a very close community. I know many of the sick people here. I was glad to hear that these conditions are finally going to see the light of day. When I saw you in the street I wondered if I could ask you to dinner, and then I saw the situation outside."

Cristina twisted her hand, running her thumb habitually over the indent left by her wedding ring. It was stowed away in her bag, back at the hotel.

"You said it yourself," Cristina responded, trying to lean toward him without falling out of her chair. Her mind was mostly sound, but her balance was off. "We're not in danger here."

His eyes burned a little. "It would be an honor to… get to know you better."

Cristina placed her hand on his face, testing his reaction, and then kissed him. He was warm and he smelled sweet. His hands were soft on her shoulders. She forgot herself, and lost her fear, as the alcohol settled over her.

In the very back of her mind, where the younger woman lived and tried to set her gently back on the tracks, she knew what she was doing was wrong. She knew she was giving in to the darkness, indulging her desires, hiding from her fears and insecurities, but Adham was handsome, and the night was old, and for the first time in months she had a moment of relief from the storm clouds looming above. Just for a few hours, she could breathe again.


	102. Cloak

**Cloak.**

**December 26, 2017.**

**Port Said, Egypt.**

Cristina pressed a cold bottle to her temple, trying to ease the throbbing in her skull. She ignored the water rolling down her arms, dripping on the bedsheet. She was fixated on the news scrolling across the crappy hotel room television. _Five dead following outbreak of violence in Port Said riots_. People were being interviewed and Cristina was trying to figure out if she recognized them. Everything had happened so quickly that the faces blurred together. She hated that effect.

It was a little chilly outside. She had neglected to wear her warm clothes even though she knew it would be a smidge colder in Damascus. Her yearning for tropical weather saw her in a tank top and long black pants, with the bottoms covered in dust from their nighttime adventure. She had barely been able to find them that morning.

Her phone flashed with the missed call symbol. It reminded her every now and then that she had new voicemails. She already knew what they said, so she didn't bother listening.

Teddy strode out of the bathroom, dumping her suitcase beside Cristina's near the door. She had her eyebrows hitched in a hard expression of hostility. "Flight leaves in two hours. Finish packing. We need to be in Damascus by eight."

"Why are you so snippy?"

"Oh, I don't know." Teddy snapped the first words, like she wanted to go on a tirade from there, but she stopped herself. She locked her jaw for a moment and crossed her arms, physically restraining her words. "Let me think back. Owen has called me a hundred times asking about you. He calls every day. He begs to talk to you. I just got off the phone with him and I almost told him what you did last night. I came so close. But I realized it would just hurt him more."

Cristina tensed at the news of her husband. She did her best to pretend she wasn't interested in his precious feelings. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him you were okay. I told him you were looking for a chance to come see him. I lied to him. God forbid you go see your family, Cristina. God forbid you go see your kids!"

Cristina stood, swaying a little when the wine from last night caught her off guard. She moved to a chair by the window, watching the neighborhood bustle. Dawn was their favorite time of day. It was like the world just sprung to life every morning.

Teddy sighed. "I wish you would tell me what happened between you two."

"I can't. I can't right now." Cristina kept her eyes carefully away. "He made it pretty clear that I shouldn't… he said some things that… I just need you to understand that I want to do my job here. I just want to work. I don't want to talk about Owen."

Teddy sat across from Cristina, trying to catch her eye. "How long has it been? Six weeks? Seven?" She reached over the table, aimless at first, and then she placed one hand gently on Cristina's arm. "I want you to be okay, and it's hard when I love you both. Just know that whatever he said, he's sorry. He's so sorry. He loves you so much, and you're much happier when you talk to him."

"I know." Cristina stood, almost knocking her chair over. She flinched when it banged into the old fashioned radiator. "We should go."

Teddy watched her for a moment, biting her lip. "Promise me we'll talk about this later."

"Sure. Yeah. Whatever. Let's go."

XxX

**December 26, 2017.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Owen kneaded his forehead as he pushed through the front door. It was loud inside. Collin was hobbling around with a toy spaceship, squealing at the top of his lungs, and his siblings were doing everything in their power to tear a stuffed monkey in half. Harper, the teenage daughter of one of his coworkers on the base, was lying across the couch, texting on a smart phone that dangled precariously over her face. She looked up and smiled as he came in.

"Did we have a good day?" he wondered.

Collin heard him and changed directions, ditching his spaceship moments before he made contact. He slammed into Owen so hard that he almost stumbled. Owen scooped him up and laughed – one of the first times he had laughed that day. His smile was absolutely infectious. He twisted Collin around and pretended to inspect him.

"Yep." Harper popped her lips and hopped to her feet, hovering near the door. "Evelyn fell earlier and she has a little cut on her knee, but she's fine. Is it ok if I go now?"

Owen nodded, glancing down to see the cut. "Uh, yeah. Do you want me to walk you home?"

"I think I can handle it. Goodnight, Dr. Hunt."

He opened the door for her and stepped onto the porch, watching her make the daring walk down the sidewalk, to the house next door. He waited until she had the door open to head back inside. He came back just in time to grab Evelyn before she tottered to freedom.

"_You_ are becoming a handful," he said to the girl as he set her back beside her brother. Evelyn pouted and sunk to her bottom, going back to trying to steal the monkey from Noah.

Owen sat on the floor with them. He had no desire to be productive. His days were draining and he valued the time he got to spend with the kids. His house looked like a disaster, he needed to shower, he still hadn't eaten dinner, and Chip was coming over in a few minutes to do physical therapy with Collin, but Owen could not bring himself to get moving.

He just sat down and watched his kids. Collin was getting leaner every day, growing taller, and his curly blonde hair was getting out of control. He had been fair-skinned when they came to Germany but his days playing in the backyard had given him a new bronze color and darkened his hair. Owen had only really seen pictures of his birth mother, and he could only guess about his biological father, but he could see that Collin would be a magnet for girls one day. His baby brother looked just like Cristina, with paler skin, black hair, and dark eyes. He was quieter and gentler than his sister, preferring the silent mayhem to the chaos she provided.

Evelyn stood out the most. She had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Owen found himself favoring her not because she resembled him physically, but because her personality made him think of her mother. She was a firecracker. She was loud and boisterous, getting into trouble every time he dared turn his back, instigating fights with her brothers, figuring out latches and stealing candy bars in the middle of the night.

She was giving him that mischievous look now, like she was plotting another escape. Her expressions, mirroring those of Cristina, made his heart ache. She had only seen the kids sporadically since she started traveling with Teddy, making it home once or twice a week. It had been a while since her last visit and she wouldn't answer his calls.

"Whoa, whoa, give me that." Owen took the monkey from both twins, holding it in his lap to keep his audience captive. "Guys, I have the day off tomorrow. We can go to the park, or we can go see the Christmas lights again. What do you wanna do?"

Collin bounced into the air, his arms up. "Lights!"

His siblings mimicked him with a simultaneous, "Lights!" It came out as a gurgling mumble, the type of late babble that begins to sound like language, but Owen was familiar with it.

"Lights it is." He handed the monkey back.

Evelyn snatched it, bundling it into her arms before Noah could get a hand on it. She looked at Owen, said "Thank you," and staggered to her feet. She ran into the living room with her loot, stopping by the chair. Noah crawled after her.

"No, that was mean!" Collin reprimanded, pointing his little finger at her. He looked at Owen for affirmation. "No snatching!"

"Right. But I'm letting it slide for now. Chip is coming to see you."

Collin frowned and touched his leg. "I have to go."

Headlights blared through the windows. Owen stood and stretched, watching Collin escape to his room. Sometimes he disappeared when he heard Chip was coming over, but sometimes he got excited and waited by the window. It was hard to predict at his age.

Chip walked in like he lived there, kicking his snowy shoes off at the door. His eyes fell on the twins immediately and his voice boomed. "Look at that little monster! Look at her, giving daddy a run for his money!" He flattened his silver hair, panting a little. "Still no steps from Noah? He needs to thin out those marshmallow legs."

Owen laughed. "He tries, but he stumbles."

"Well, ten months is early anyway. I bet he'll be running by next week."

Owen dreaded that. He stepped into the hallway. "Let me track down the big one. He heard you were coming and went into hiding."

"Collin, buddy, I thought we were friends!"

Owen went into his son's room, smiling at the toys he had lined up all over his bed. It looked like he had been working on it all afternoon. He was hiding in his closet, whispering to himself. Owen had heard him in there often and usually left him to his games.

He knocked on the closet door. "Collin, you know you have to come out and see Chip. He makes your leg work better."

He got no response and opened the door, curious.

Collin was sitting cross-legged, holding his tablet across his knees, and Cristina was looking back at him through it. Her face was something he missed seeing every day, but he still knew it so well. She looked tired, and beautiful, and seeing her made his day better. It lifted his spirit. Collin gave a cute little gasp when he was discovered, flattening his hand over his mother's face.

Owen crouched to get a better look at his wife. Collin tipped the tablet so the camera was on Owen. She frowned and looked away.

"How are you?" Owen asked, unable to come up with anything else.

She was still looking away from the camera. "Fine. You?"

"Uh, fine, I guess. Evelyn is walking a lot better. Noah is trying, but he has fat legs."

She smiled, finally glancing up. "Once we're done in Syria I should be able to… come home for a little while. If that's okay."

"Of course it is." He felt a little ache in his chest. She had not left on the best terms. He had said some things he regretted now, but he couldn't find a way to take them back. In the past few months he had considered that she was leaving him many times, but then he got a spark like this, a snippet of conversation, and his hope was restored. It was either very cruel of her, or painfully kind.

She cleared her throat, dark eyes fixated on the screen, and then she looked away again. "Collin, baby, I have to go. Same time tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay!" Collin hit a little red button at the top of the screen and locked the tablet. He looked back at Owen, completely innocent. "I can go see Chip?"

"Yeah… go see Chip."

When his son was gone, Owen took the tablet. He looked through the calls, surprised to see dozens of them, almost four times a day. He had thought she was disconnected from all of them, but it was him, specifically, that she was avoiding. He wondered if Collin had showed her his siblings walking, and let her listen to them babble. He also wondered how she had managed to teach the boy to call her like that. He must have been at work. Had she been visiting without his knowledge?

Owen wandered back into the living room, his head heavy. He texted Harper. Her response was what he expected. Cristina had asked her not to tell him that she had been to the house.

"Long day?" Chip wondered from the couch. He had Collin in his lap and he was pulling his leg through a series of motions.

Owen rubbed his forehead with his hand, fighting a headache. "I made a mistake with my wife, and she's been… avoiding me. For a while."

"Must have been a really bad mistake."

"I brought up something I should have let go a long time ago."

"Is that who you were talking to in there?"

Owen set the tablet down, watching Collin wince as his muscles were stretched out. "She wasn't there for me. She was there for Collin. I don't think I was supposed to know."

"I hope it works out for you."

"Yeah… me too."

XxX

**December 26, 2017.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Derek sat back in his chair and crossed one arm over his chest, listening to the phone ring. Webber was saying something but Derek spoke over him, unwilling to let go of this one, last number. "Hold on, I have one more that I want to recommend. He's not local so it could be a longshot, but he asked me to call if I ever heard of an opening in the States."

Webber cocked an eyebrow. "Where is he from?"

"Egypt," Derek said, just as the phone was picked up.

"Farrah household." A young girl had answered.

Derek smiled. Good. He wanted to give this man a chance. "Hi. I was wondering if I could speak to a Dr. Adham Farrah."

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Dr. Derek Shepherd."

He waited while the girl shouted something in Arabic, and then the phone changed hands. "Hello? Hello? This is Dr. Farrah."

Derek was glad for his enthusiasm. He must have recognized his name. "Hi. It's Derek Shepherd. I'm not sure you remember but we met-"

"Of course I remember! How have you been, my friend? I was glad to hear you were alright after your accident."

Derek cringed at the memory. "Uh, yes, thank you." He reset himself, trying to sound official again. "You asked me to call if there was ever a job opening and, well, my injuries made me unable to operate. So we have a job opening at my hospital. Grey-Sloan Memorial, in Seattle."

He heard an excited hitch of breath. "I can send you my resume immediately!"

"I still have the one you gave me. I was wondering if you would like to come in for an interview at your earliest convenience."

"Yes, of course! Um, can I get back to you with a date? I have some patients I am responsible for and I-"

"No hurry. Whenever you can. We're not trying to rush anything. We're just trying to find the right fit for this position."

"Of course. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I think you'll be impressed with what I've done since our last encounter. I have many more cases under my belt."

"Good to hear. Get back to me when you can."

"I will. Goodbye, Dr. Shepherd. And thank you, again, for the opportunity."

Derek hung up, smiling. He was glad to find someone young and bright like Adham to interview. He had been following his work since he met him several years ago. He resigned to look him up and see what those new cases were.

"Farrah… I've heard that name before." Webber spun his chair a little, tapping his folder.

"Dr. Farrah earned his fame by performing pro bono surgeries in war-torn countries all over the world. He deploys to combat zones. He specialized in shrapnel removal when I met him, but since then he's branched out into pediatrics and neural cancers."

"He sounds more than qualified."

"He is. But I still want to do the other interviews to keep our options open."

"I still like Jacobs for the position, and I have the final say. So convince me otherwise."

Derek smiled. "I intend to."


	103. Skirmish

**A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. I have two jobs now in pediatrics and my babies take up all of my time. When I get home it's hard to stay away, let alone write a chapter that doesn't stink. But, as you know, I always come back, so have no fear. I will be starting nursing school soon so (hopefully) I won't be working as much. Also, if any of you were ever wondering about my age, I thought I would go ahead and tell you that I just turned 21 in May. I hope you like this chapter and I can promise you that the next one will be about Cristina visiting Owen and the kids, so prepare for that reunion (for better or worse).**

**Skirmish.**

**January 5, 2018.**

**Damascus, Syria.**

It was much colder than she had anticipated. Even in the field hospital, right on the edge of a beautiful expanse of desert, the air was frigid. It was terribly windy. Sand filled every crevice, pounded on the burlap walls like tiny pin missiles, and complicated the already dire wounds of most of their patients. Sand was hard to suction out. It was gritty and it created abrasions on sensitive cardiac tissue that, if the person had not had their chest blown open, would have never experienced such a texture. It was a unique obstacle she had never had to deal with.

Beyond the lack of advanced medical supplies, the field hospital was overcrowded. Border skirmishes – taking place on the other side of that picturesque desert – gave them dozens more patients than they could handle.

Cristina felt a little guilty because she and Teddy were not there specifically to save lives, but to examine the types of wounds created by a 'revolutionary' new type of grenade. They were not serving on the front lines with the military doctors, both US and Syrian, who had been dealing with these war casualties all day, every day, for months, and soon they would leave them behind with more knowledge and a report for their government, but with little else to show for it. Here, the mission was for a researcher, not a doctor. Cristina hated every moment of it.

She had been there two days when she finally began to see relevant patients. She hovered over the shoulders of a doctor garbed completely in sand-colored camouflage, waiting for his decision. He classified the newest arrival three different ways. He was unable to move, his priority was very low because of the extent of his injuries, and they could not afford to use supplies on him. Cristina had learned her first day not to try and fight that decision, but to work with it as much as she could. As cruel as it seemed, the man was going to die within the next few minutes and there was nothing she could do but learn from him.

She injected him with dye and began taking scans to follow the course of the shrapnel. Elsewhere in their understaffed tent, Teddy was doing the same. Cristina memorized the way the metal bits moved, trying to assign a pattern to it.

And then the shouting started.

"Victim is five years old – severe penetrating trauma to the chest, traumatic amputation of the right hand, degloving of the right arm."

Doctors rushed him through on a gurney that was four or five times his size. Cristina had been there forty-eight hours and she had never seen them so panicked. In this little rebel skirmish, people were taken to the field hospital on average once every ten minutes. But this case was different. He was not a soldier. He was an accident.

Cristina intercepted them immediately. "I'll try to get him stabilized. We need to evac him to the city as soon as possible."

She dragged the gurney next to the dying man with the dye in his blood and tried not to listen to his awful gurgling. More disturbing was the silence of the little boy, who was so covered with blood and whose chest was so strangely blown apart that he seemed like a half-destroyed clay creation, cold and lifeless, lacking even basic signs of life.

But his heart was beating. Cristina confirmed it and began her work. He had been hit with the same device that was killing the man on the next table, but he was in the earlier stages, fresh from the battlefield, and the young sometimes proved to be far more resilient that adults.

Teddy joined her and they worked in unison, closing off arteries, replacing ribs, snatching pieces of shrapnel from the flesh of his heart. She had never done so many sutures on a single organ, and yet it kept beating. Its persistence was also its flaw. He was losing blood rapidly, almost faster than they could hang bags. Cristina ordered a basic blood typing test while the last bag of universal blood was hung. He came back with a rare type. His life became hinged to how many bags they had, and how fast they could get back into the heart of Damascus, to a real hospital.

Cristina looked back and forth between the X-rays of the now-dead victim beside them to the open chest of the little boy, trying to imagine the path the metal would take. She caught a few pieces out of pure luck, using a magnet pen to draw them to the surface while Teddy snatched them out. His rapid heart began to slow when most of it was removed, but his injuries proved too severe to salvage. Cristina saw the end coming long before it reached them.

"Son of bitch…" she murmured as she set her tools down. It wasn't chilly anymore. Her whole face was covered with sweat and her hands were shaking. The little boy was still alive, barely, but continuing their efforts would be fruitless. One of the pieces she had missed – a piece that showed up as a much larger black spot in the scans of the dead patient – had done a flip as it passed through his carotid, and it had created a gash the likes of which she could not repair. His artery just broke away, resisting sutures, and like paper in water they turned to mush. Blood crowded everything, coagulating, probably because his typing had been off, or the blood bag was mislabeled. It mattered little to the end result. He had been hit by something designed specifically to kill, and it worked.

He died, still without waking, about an hour after he arrived.

She waited with him for a while, studying his body to increase her understanding of the grenades, but the time came when she could no longer stand the sight of him. She left the field hospital and boarded the helicopter bound for Damascus, sitting across from Teddy, who had plunged deep into thought when their efforts failed.

"I know how to help them now," Cristina offered, hoping to help her friend come to terms with the very little dent they had made in this country. "Once I get it written out and diagramed we can go back and teach those doctors how to stop the damage from spreading."

Teddy rubbed her face, nodding. She looked haunted. "I want to get home as soon as I can. I think I've seen enough of war to last a lifetime."

Cristina swallowed. Teddy had been a soldier long before they met, working alongside Owen to save lives on and off the battlefield. She thought her friend would thrive in this kind of environment, but it seemed she was no longer able to turn off her desire to save everyone. Every death tore her up. Cristina was starting to feel numb to the casualties.

She wasn't sure which adaptation was worse.

XxX

**January 5, 2018.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Owen took a deep, deep breath as he listened to his son cry. He was in the next room over, being whispered to by Arizona and probably cuddled by the nurse, but still Owen had the overpowering urge to go and check on him, as he had three times already. He was only stopped by the sleeping baby in his arms, and the knowledge that the little girl wobbling around the room would probably find something to destroy the moment he looked away.

Evelyn made circles around the exam table, pausing by the door to wonder about her brother, and then stopping beside Owen to look at him pointedly, as if saying that he should be in there, doing something to help Collin. She had a tongue depressor in her hand.

Finally, the pediatric surgeon returned with Collin, depositing him carefully on the bench beside Owen and pulling up a chair to sit across from them. Arizona was as vibrant as ever, but she had gathered a few more laugh lines since the last time he had seen her.

"I forgot to ask how everything was going with Manny."

Arizona brightened at the mention of her soon-to-be adopted son. "Well, you know how it is. Paperwork is moving through 'official' channels. But we get to take him home every weekend and maybe next week we get to keep him permanently."

"That's great. I'm glad." Owen had one arm around Collin, and he ran his fingers through the boy's impossible golden mane. "How is he?"

"Bubbly." Arizona smiled, and then nodded to Collin. "And your little man is growing like a weed. I took all the shots I need of his leg and I need to get Callie to look over them, but I think you're right. We should move the surgery up. At this stage I would recommend giving him another six to nine months to grow, and then we can see where he is and hopefully do a series of very minor procedures to help him adapt as he gets taller. I want to keep him out of the operating room and the hospital as much as possible."

"I appreciate that, and thank you for coming out here on such short notice. I just-"

"Hey, I understand. Trust me. God, do I understand." Arizona stood up, pulling a sticker from her pocket to hand to Collin. He shrunk away and his sister swooped in to take it.

Owen laid his head against the wall, more than relieved by her words. He wanted Collin to be able to walk straight again, because all the hobbling exhausted him. It was giving him blisters on his heel. Having a real timeframe for his corrective surgery relieved his anxiety.

"I bet you're excited for August." Arizona lingered. She looked genuine despite the probing nature of her words. Surgeons were among the most perceptive in the medical profession.

He tried his best smile on and nodded. "Actually, she's coming home soon to visit, once they wrap some things up."

"And the plan is still to come back, right? I mean, it's your life and all, but I will hunt you down, shoot a net gun at you, and haul you back to Seattle if I have to."

Owen smiled. It was nice to have friends who wanted him to return, even if it was only because he was bringing adorable children and his antisocial wife. "Yes. You forget, my mother lives in Seattle. She would help you haul us back."

"Oh, wait, let me update you." Arizona slid in on his other side, flipping through her phone to show him a series of pictures. "I introduce you to the adorable Jackson Joseph Avery II."

It was a picture of an olive-skinned boy with blue eyes and black hair, only a few months old. She went to the next picture and paused. This time it was a little black girl in a princess outfit. Her hair was tightly curled and her eyes were wide and spunky – she reminded him of Evelyn.

Arizona sighed. "I'm sure you heard about all the Pierce drama. But this one is drama-free. Cora is so precious. I think she's right around Collin's age."

"Pierce drama?"

"Maggie Pierce?" Arizona frowned at him. "You know, the other half-sister Meredith never knew she had? Love child of Ellis Grey and Chief Webber?"

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. They're engaging in a battle of wills. Maggie took over cardio after you guys moved away so it might be transference on Meredith's part. But I think it's safe to say they won't be best buddies anytime soon. I can't believe Cristina didn't tell you."

"Must have slipped her mind." Owen stood, twisting Noah around to hold him against his shoulder. The little boy barely stirred as he placed him in his strolled. Evelyn was harder to wrangle. Collin walked alongside it, holding onto it and avoiding the pediatric surgeon who had twisted his leg.

It was late, and the hospital they had borrowed an exam room in was seeing its first night-shift arrivals. Signs written in both German and English directed them to the lobby. Arizona watched him for a while, curious about his reservation, but she must have chalked it all up to exhaustion. She made friends with Collin again and ended up carrying him to the car. Owen let his mind wander now that there was another adult to monitor the kids – a very rare event for him. He was the one who knew the city, but Arizona drove them home.

He wondered if Cristina really would come for a visit when they were done in Syria, and if she would still avoid him when she got there. He tried to find the words to plead with her, to make sure she knew that he would do anything to fix what he had broken between them. And he longed to talk to her, deep into the night, like they had done years ago.

XxX

**January 6, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Derek watched the candidate from across the table, his hands folded together like he was part of some ancient painting of priests passing judgement for their followers. Adham Farrah was harder to break than the others. He just looked calmly back, his hands resting on the surface of the table, his eyes completely at peace, a pleasant smile on his face.

It was impressive.

"Why do you want to work in the United States?"

Farrah barely blinked. "Better supplies, more patients who have a chance of surviving, and, of course, a better chance of surviving, myself. I want to move my family here and settle in."

"Grey-Sloan is a teaching hospital, so you would be required to take on interns and residents and help them hone their abilities. We have one of the most competitive and renowned surgical residency programs in the country. Only the best come here."

"I am aware of this."

"I know you have experience in teaching other surgeons…"

"I do. I often teach basic medicine in rural areas. I have taught, perhaps, three hundred people how to deal with medical crises ranging from infections to penetrating wounds and heart attacks. I also know three languages."

Derek twisted his lips, glancing at Webber. He was nodding, obviously impressed, and his eyes were narrowed to appraise Farrah like one would appraise a priceless gem. He wanted to recruit him. He wanted to _collect_ him for the hospital. Farrah would definitely be an asset. He might be able to attract more global candidates for the residency program, giving them more international prestige. He was also an excellent surgeon. Derek had reviewed videos of his operations, sent earlier that morning, and wanted to observe firsthand.

He got an approving nod from Webber, who slid a piece of paper to Farrah. He spoke in a deep, respectful hum. "I can offer you this for your first year, and after that, depending on how things go, we can talk about the future. I want you for this hospital, Dr. Farrah. I think you are an exceptional surgeon and an exceptional human being."

"I would be honored to work for you." Farrah looked at the paper and stuttered, clearing his throat. "But this is too much. Is it not?"

"No. We value your skillset." Webber stood up, holding out his hand. "Come on. I'll take you to human resources and we can do all the signing and officiating. Have you eaten anything yet? We have a lot of very good restaurants in the area."

Derek smiled, glad Webber had found a suitable replacement, and packed his things to go. He was almost out one door when the other one opened across the room. It was Meredith.

She crossed to him, her face a mixture of outrage and disgust, and declared, "I hate Maggie. I hate her stupid face. I hate her stupid voice. I hate her stupid daughter. No. No, I take that back. But I don't take back the other stuff. I _meant_ that stuff."

"Tell me all about it at home."

She talked all the way to the car, and went on. Ironically, she stopped when they were in the driveway. She fumed until she was inside, and then flopped dramatically onto the couch while Derek paid the babysitter. He thanked the young woman, checked to make sure all of the kids were, in fact, in bed and sleeping, and then joined his wife. She rested her head on his shoulder, sulking, and curled up into a ball.

"I need Cristina to come home. She needs to be mad with me."

"Seven more months."

"I know. But maybe she'll come back sooner and surprise me." Meredith looked up at him hopefully, and they frowned. "Or maybe her plane will crash and she'll lose a leg, and then a yeti will attack and drag her to his ice cave, and then-"

"We should talk about something else, like the party."

Meredith groaned. "Even scarier."

Soon their twins would be turning one, and despite groaning about it, Meredith brightened a little at the mention of it. Derek felt a jolt of energy as well. When he had lost his surgically precise hands after the accident, he had thought, if only for a short time, that his life was over, but his kids were proving to him every day that it had only just begun. Everything was going well. He was happy. Meredith was happy. His kids were healthy. Now all he needed was a great birthday party for them, and for all of his students to do well in class, and for Cristina and Owen to move back to Seattle so that everything would not just be well, but perfect.


	104. If You Love Me, Why Am I Dyin?

**If You Love Me, Why Am I Dyin'?**

**January 15, 2018.**

**Damascus, Syria.**

Cristina laid her head against the window, shutting her eyes. "Can she really be that bad?"

Her friend came through with a high, whiney tone. "Cristina, I kid you not, she totally freaked out on me in the middle of the cafeteria. The only reason – and I mean the only reason – she still has her job is because Webber is freaking head over heels. Whoopee, you have a daughter. Too bad she's a raging psychopath!"

Cristina smiled. "I would raise you a nagging Teddy, but she's really not that bad. If I was there I would have stabbed Maggie for you."

"I know." Meredith sighed. "I miss you."

It was hard to have these conversations. "Six-ish more months."

"I could come live in your suitcase."

"Don't you have a birthday party to plan?"

Meredith groaned. "Oh, yeah, no, I got kicked off the committee. Derek says he has it all handled. What are you guys doing for Noah and Evie?"

She honestly had no idea, though the date was approaching in just a month. "I think Owen is the party master. I'll ask him." She spoke quickly, trying to cover the fact that she didn't have this information – like a good mother would. "Well Collin is three now, so maybe he'll plan it. Didn't you know that once you're three you basically rule the world?"

Meredith only gave a slight pause. "In this house we respect the three."

"I was in Damascus for his birthday, so I called him from this little hotel and the first thing he told me was how much older he felt. Owen took him to see a movie."

"Crap. I have to go. I hear flushing and I think the circumstances are suspicious."

Her friend hung up. It was good, because she was starting to get nasty looks from the other passengers. She had been talking to Meredith since they took off. Teddy raised her eye-cover and smiled, giving a long, dramatic stretch before curling into her seat to go back to sleep.

It was easy for her. She walked out of war and forgot about it. Cristina still had the dead boy on her mind – and countless others who had died before they devised a way to save them.

She was glad she was going home, and trying not to carry her nightmares with her.

**XxX**

She arrived in the middle of the night, when all of Heidelberg, miraculously, was sleeping. Streets were empty. It was ominous going straight there from the bustling airport, fresh out of a country that had no silent nights. Gunfire and the distant, resonating boom of bombs had kept her up, and now it was silent and she could not see herself sleeping. She was too wound up. She felt like a pariah as she passed through the base, as tense as a rabbit while everything else was utterly peaceful. Unlike the other homes on their street, hers had a light on.

It was quiet inside. Cristina set her bags inside the door and shut it, looking around at all the little things Owen had changed since the last time she was there. The bouncing seats that fastened to the doorways were gone. The toys had morphed, somehow without her noticing, to different life stages, no longer soft rattles and rubber ruffles to chew on – now they had foam animals and finger paints. Pictures were pinned all over the walls.

How long had it been? She couldn't remember. More than a month, but less than three. Somewhere in that timeframe she had missed crucial moments in the twins' lives.

The light was a stout lamp in the living room, sitting on the table at the end of the couch. Owen was lying across the cushions with one arm thrown over the arm. He was sleeping. She was actually relieved when she took the few steps to see his face. He was frowning, pensive, with the TV humming and the remote clutched in his hand. It was a familiar scene that made her smile – not because Owen had done this before, but because it was something her father used to do.

She was going to wake him, but before she could summon the courage she heard something down the hallway. Collin. He was talking to himself. She peeked in his bedroom door and found him sitting on his bed, creating a conversation between two plastic dinosaurs.

He grinned when he saw her, dropping his toys and almost falling off the bed in his excitement. She met him halfway and sank to her knees to hug him, glad to feel his arms around her neck again. She pushed thoughts of how tall and lean he had become, and how long his hair was, and how the cartoon characters on his walls had been replaced with superheroes, and focused instead on how much she had missed him. She was gone, and it was wrong, but she was back now.

"Hey buddy," she whispered, failing to get her voice to come out any louder. His arms tightened around her neck and she felt him smiling against her shoulder.

Her plan was dashed for the moment. She spent over an hour playing with Collin, and then hovered near the twins' cribs, and then went back to Collin and laid in his bed with him until he fell asleep. It was hard to get up without waking him, but she managed, and then lingered and watched him. He was so handsome. She had seen him on the screen of her phone nearly every day since she had left, but seeing him in person was so much better. It was going to be hard to leave again.

Finally, when it was closer to morning than night, Cristina went back into the living room and cleared her throat, letting her feet drop a little heavier on the floor. Her husband stirred, grumbled, and rubbed his eyes.

And then he saw her.

And he smiled.

And it was like dawn breaking.

She forgot what she was going to say. She had been creating dialogues all night, coming up with the best explanations for her behavior, but they all abandoned her. She went blank. Clean slate. She stared at him for several seconds, and then crossed the room, climbed on top of him, and buried her face in his chest.

Owen wrapped both arms around her, just like Collin had, and pressed a kiss into her hair. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Welcome home."

Cristina, full of grace, snorted, and then laughed, and then cried. Owen seemed thrown by her reaction, but it was nothing compared to how flabbergasted she was. This was not the plan. She was not supposed to be groveling, but here she was, melting all over him.

He stroked her hair for a while, until the sun poured through the front windows, baking the oak floor and lighting up his face. She had to draw away to look at him, glad for how young he looked all of the sudden. There was no despair, no darkness. It was a rare look at him in an unspoiled moment. And everything she had been prepared to say to him – about her anxiety, about her nightmares, about her infidelity – got locked up tightly. She couldn't ruin this. She couldn't hurt him like that. It was just too cruel.

She crawled up his chest and kissed him, stealing something he had been about to say. She didn't need to hear it. She had a feeling he would apologize and it didn't matter to her anymore. She had literally left her troubles at the door.

Only a few precious moments into a sweet kiss, he pulled her head back with his hands, smiling, and murmured, "Let me sit up."

Cristina slid back, taking the spot his legs left. He sat up, stood up, and then scooped her into his arms, carrying her by the kitchen and into the bedroom. It was the only thing in the house that was the exact same as she had left it – royal purple bedspread, pale sheets, medical manuals stacked dangerously in the corner, an old cup of coffee on her bedside table.

Owen dropped her on the edge and dove in for another kiss, capturing her hair in his hand. Cristina went right back to the past, to a time when things were less complicated, and forgot whatever it is she had been holding back.

She was home now. Everything was going to be okay.


	105. Reality

**Reality.**

**January 18, 2018.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

It was easy to imagine life could stay this way forever.

Cristina had her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapped securely in his, and her eyes on the tiny people who had come to dominate their lives. It could only be more perfect if the dark cloud over her head dissipated and let her breathe easy for once – and even with the cloud, her whole body felt lighter. She could _really_ smile.

She did nothing but smile since she got home. It was impossible not to, after spending hours in bed with Owen, having those warm, familiar eyes follow her around the house. Her children played second fiddle this time, unable to add up to their father.

For hours the television played, and the heater rotated in the corner, and Cristina sat half-wrapped in Owen's arms, just watching the kids. Collin was like a shepherd to his siblings, showing them what they should play with, and how. He kept them from fighting with stern words and gave them pointless instruction on how to play his favorite games. Evelyn seemed to enjoy destroying whatever her brother built a lot more than learning the rules, but Noah watched and listened like his little life depended on it – though Cristina doubted he could understand most of what his big brother said. But it kept them all busy and entertained, and it gave Cristina room to breathe.

Owen let the silence between them go on until late in the afternoon. She had spent the last several days trying to avoid conversation, but she was resolved now. Some things had to be said.

"So, tell me about-" he began.

"I was in Port Said when those protestors were shot."

Owen paused, caught off-guard by her confession, and tightened his grip on her shoulder. "But Meredith said-"

"I lied to Meredith. I didn't want her to worry. But we were there. _Right_ there, actually." She was one step away from mentioning Adham, and the events that had followed their escape from the violence, but her throat closed up at the thought of it. She took a different path. "And I was in Damascus, in a combat zone, where the rebels and the locals and the US troops are clashing. I was close enough to hear gunfire."

Owen cleared his throat. He looked concerned, and then confused, and then upset. He sat up a little and shook his head, mouth open. "Why would you hide that from me?"

"Well, we weren't exactly talking." Cristina paused, forcing the attitude from her voice and trying to placate him with affection. She leaned back into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to worry, either. And please don't try to guilt trip me – I know all that already."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because I…" She struggled to find the words to explain it. Why _was_ she telling him? Bringing these things up made that dark cloud grow above her. Part of her was already searching for a way to lie and take it all back. "I just… there's something I need to tell you."

He released a heavy breath, bracing himself, and Cristina could see what he expected. He already had it on his mind. He could see right through her behavior. But it wasn't the affair she was going to admit to – it was something much worse, to her at least. His stoic expression made it harder to speak, harder to find the right words.

"I think I have… a problem. The screwy kind."

He narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Psychological."

His eyes widened a fraction, either with surprise or relief. His expression became very serious and thoughtful. "You can tell me anything, Cristina."

"I know that." Cristina sighed, resting her head on him again and watching the kids. He had one of those looks on his face – the pitiful, empathetic kind that dug into her heart – and she had to look away for fear of spilling all the beans. She went on quietly, though Collin was not paying enough attention to overhear her. "I've been having nightmares… anxiety… I think it might be, like, leftover PTSD."

"Leftover from what?"

"I don't know – pick one! Phyllis dying, the sinkhole… my dad dying." She drew an image of the man she had hallucinated and shuddered. "I don't know where it came from, but it's intense, and it got really bad recently."

Owen said everything he was supposed to say, and everything he wasn't supposed to say. "I can talk to Teddy for you. I'm sure she can find a replacement. You can come home and we'll find you a good therapist – someone you can really talk to." He pressed her hair back and kissed the top of her head. "I love you."

Her was almost excited. Cristina knew where it came from. He must have sensed something very wrong with her and this confession was a huge relief for him. It was a problem he thought he could tackle, something they could grasp and wrestle into submission. Cristina couldn't blame him, with everything he had been through in the past. Their lives never had 'easy answers,' so he was going to pounce on the chance to solve something.

But it wasn't that simple. Cristina shook her head as soon as he started talking, and drew away when he had finished. "No. I have to finish this thing with Teddy. I think… I think it got worse because we were separated, and because of all the dangerous places we go, but when I come home I think it'll get better. And if it doesn't, I can go to therapy then." He looked doubtful, so she took his face in both hands. "I swear, if it gets any worse I will come home and we can go sit on all the comfy couches in the German psychiatric community, but I need to finish this."

"But-"

"Trust me. Please. If it was as bad as… as yours was, do you think I would've _told_ you?"

She was lying. She knew it had nothing to do with her separation from her family. If anything, the separation made it a little more bearable. She knew it was something intimately serious and that the longer she went untreated, the more serious it would become. She knew all of this as a doctor, and as someone who loved a man with PTSD, and yet the lies spewed out. She could not stop them. Cristina was desperate to get that look to come off of his face. She did not want his pity. She wanted to do her job, and to move back to Seattle when the time came.

She hoped against all of her contradictory knowledge that going back to Seattle in August would be the cure-all for her. It had started there, and it would end there.

Cristina managed to convince Owen to let her go back to Teddy in a couple of days, with the promise that she would keep in contact, and confide in Teddy when she needed to. She downplayed the seriousness of her condition, but felt intimate relief at having shared it with him. She had managed to trick even her own mind – she had confessed only half-truths and bold-faced lies.

But these things did not occur to her on the couch. She didn't think of them when she sat on the floor and played with the kids. She didn't think of them when she made love to Owen that night, or when she lay in his arms, talking about the amazing cases she had seen.

She only thought of them when the lights were out, and her husband was asleep. She thought of them when she was all alone, and reality was inescapable.

XxX

**January 19, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Meredith put her hands on either side of the snack machine and rested her forehead against it, groaning. Of all of the days to not give her the candy she had asked for, the stupid machine had to choose the day she spent four hours fishing through a severely over weight man's guts for pieces of the porcupine quills that had impaled him.

It was going to be one of those weeks. She could feel it.

"I hope you have a husband."

Meredith looked up at a familiar voice, smiling. She had missed having Derek around the hospital and seeing him there gave her fuzzy feelings in her stomach. He was only lingering to give a tour to his new hire, but she liked to pretend he was still in that position himself – she longed for the past, when Derek was her boss, and their relationship was a steamy secret.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, turning to lean heavily on the machine. "Oh? Why is that?"

"Because he would probably be thoughtful enough to bring you chocolate from home, because he thought you might be having a bad day judging by how ticked you were at him last night."

She had been a little miffed. Now it washed away. She took the candy he offered and flopped into the nearest cushioned chair, craning her neck to see the man hovering in the breakroom doorway. He was her husband's new career-crush – a neurosurgeon and a saint. He talked about that man like he was the next Derek Shepherd.

She smiled at him. "So, are you coming in, or what?"

He cleared his throat, stepping through the doorway and glancing around the breakroom. His grin spread wider. "Sorry. I am being rude. I am Adham Farrah."

"Meredith Grey-slash-Shepherd." She conquered half of her candy bar in one bite, and then kicked her feet up, surveying the younger surgeon. "Derek said you made the move into pediatrics recently. We could really use that coverage."

Farrah took a seat at the table, nodding. "I have been honing my abilities in that department, yes. You are general surgery, yes?"

"Yep." Meredith popped her lips.

"I look forward to working with you, and to working here. I have never seen such a big hospital, or one so well-equipped." He flashed a timid smile at Derek, who nodded approvingly, and then seemed to relax a little. "Sorry, he warned me you were fierce."

Meredith snorted. "I am. But only if you get on my bad side."

Derek left to retrieve the kids, and Meredith stirred a conversation with Dr. Farrah. She probed his reasons for studying medicine, his previous cases, and his work history, and decided he was a good fit for the hospital. He was prepared for rapid change. He became more comfortable the longer he was there, talking with more animation and smiling. He was passionate about his work.

Meredith had a feeling she could get along with him. "Just one more thing before I give you a much more official tour than Derek – there's this lady in cardio you have to watch out for…"


	106. Decisions

**Decisions.**

**April 3, 2018.**

**San Sebastian, Tierra del Fuego Province, Argentina.**

Cristina was finally enjoying herself. It was early April and pleasantly warm in the cabin. The sun poured through the huge front windows and breathed life into the old interior. She was still in bed, sprawled across a folded out couch in the middle of the living room, with her research partner beside her and an empty bottle of tequila rocking back and forth between them. It had been a good night, and it was going to be a good day, because they had taken their first steps toward understanding a tricky birth defect. For weeks they had been stalled out, meeting in this room with chips and coffee, ignoring their beautiful surroundings for fear of losing a day of work – but now they could take a day off. Cristina could already feel the stress melting away.

She was only awake for a few moments before Dr. Thomas burst into the room from the kitchen, holding a pot of coffee and a tray of coffee mugs. He set the tray across her knees and sat on the foot of the bed, causing the whole thing to heave dangerously sideways. It woke Teddy. She groaned, glared at him, and turned on her other side.

"I hope you are ready to take the day off," he said, as cheerful and boisterous as ever. He started divvying out the coffee, tossing empty plastic cups toward the closed door on the other side of the room. "Get up, get up. Izzy, we are having a day off! You are getting up!"

From the closed room, Izzy shouted back, "I am coming!"

"Perky, perky, perky," Dr. Thomas said, refocusing on Cristina and fluffing her hair. "Come on and sit up. I cannot believe you slept so late."

Cristina forced herself to sit up, checking her watch. It was seven-thirty. If anyone else had been shouting at her and bouncing on the bed like an excited child at this hour, she would have reacted differently, but Dr. Thomas was a special case. His personality was irrepressible. He was bottled sunshine. He had been her biggest doubt when they arrived in Argentina, but now he was more like her source of sanity. As long as he was peppy, the world was still turning.

"I heard something about a boat last night." Cristina took her coffee, boldly sipping at it. Dr. Thomas made coffee that could have woken the dead. "I just want you to know now that I will not be getting on a boat, or in a plane, or anything that could crash."

Dr. Thomas smiled. "Oh, yes, your perpetual fear of everything that could possibly go wrong. You will have to leave that on the island today. We are going out to sea."

Cristina snorted, picturing the slim man trying to drag her onto a boat.

He prodded Teddy in the hip. "Come on, grumpy lady. We are celebrating, remember?"

Teddy rolled on her back, grimacing at him as she took her coffee. She tried unsuccessfully to drink it lying down, and then groaned all the way into a sitting position. "We're not done yet. We still haven't found out how to prevent the defect."

"But we know what is causing it. You said that was the first step, and what a big step it was!"

"You are just… so bracing in the morning." Teddy nudged Cristina. "How is your stomach?"

At the mention of her uneasy stomach, Cristina felt a little pull of nausea. She handed her coffee back and sunk into the covers. "Forgot about it until now. Thanks."

"That's what friends are for." Teddy smiled, and then frowned. "Wait, if that gets you out of the boat thing I have it too. Must have been that weird chicken you cooked last night, Thomas."

He scoffed and set his coffee pot down. "Ridiculous! That chicken was perfect!"

"I thought it was a little dry." Izzy emerged in the middle of tying up her thick black hair. It went all the way down to the middle of her back and caused problems if it was left unbound. She gave Dr. Thomas a friendly shoved as she passed him. "You made them sick, so I get to cook tonight. We will have something native."

Teddy took two attempts to stand from the low couch-bed, twisting around to pop her back when she was finally upright. "Come on, Cristina. We deserve a break."

Cristina rolled across the bed to take up the whole thing. "Well there's only one bathroom, so I'll be right here. Wake me when it's tomorrow."

Once they were ready Dr. Thomas drove them into town in his topless Jeep. Even though they had been there for weeks, they had rarely ventured into populated areas. Armed with family trees and lineages going back centuries they had been tracking down the descendants of the natives and documenting a vicious heart defect that claimed the lives of nearly a third of their children. Dr. Thomas and Izzy, a non-native volunteer doctor and a native doctor, respectively, had served as their guides and they were the ones who supplied the food, the housing, and the insight. San Sebastian had a beautiful coastline, damaged roads, and a few pop-up cities struggling to find footing among the impoverish locals. In recent years it had seen a decline that dragged it out of the public eye and saw it struggle for independence from the mainland.

Despite its shortcomings, Cristina thought the place was peaceful. Everyone had enough to eat, children played by the coast, and fishermen stood all day in the shallows or on the black rocks that jutted from the sea. It was completely separate from modernism.

Dr. Thomas gave them the tour, introducing them to the denizens and buying them lunch in a little market poised upon a cliff. He didn't seem concerned with time, guiding them slowly around the island. They came to the dock last, where Dr. Thomas did a requested ear exam of a fishermen and Izzy showed them how the catches were stored and distributed.

"Extra meat is carted up into the hills for the farmers, who trade in surplus. Dr. Thomas actually suggested this system when he noticed certain nutrition problems in our population." Izzy placed her hands in her pockets and paced around a little, smiling uncertainly. "It is small, but it is mine, you know? I have dedicated my life to this island. I was so happy to know that your government was taking interest in the infant mortality rate."

Teddy smiled back. "I actually presented it to them as part of my global assessment of hereditary cardiac abnormalities. You see, when I applied for this grant it was under the stipulation that I would be able to choose some of my cases, and some would be given to me."

"So where you were before, in Syria, you say, was their request?"

"Yes, it was." Teddy glanced at Cristina, perhaps thinking of the nightmares she had woken up from in the weeks following their stint in a warzone. "I actually submitted another request in South America, in central Brazil, to study a small group in the Amazon that has a similar infant mortality problem that may be related to the one here. If it is, it could mean they're the missing tribe you were telling us about last night."

"That would be quite the discovery," Izzy agreed.

Dr. Thomas returned and threw his arms around Cristina and Teddy's shoulders. "Ladies, if you will follow me to the docks our vessel is ready to set off. Your handsome captain will be me, and your gorgeous co-captain will Ms. Dr. Isabella Sanchez-Gonzalez, first of her name."

"Sometimes I am so close to striking him, and then I remember that I am a professional, and I contain myself," Izzy told them, smiling as she led the way down the dock. Dr. Thomas followed her, protesting that he was the one who was supposed to be leading.

Teddy spoke lowly, laughing, "You can swim, right?"

Cristina paused before they made it to the boat, considering turning back and sitting in the Jeep until the three of them returned. But the ocean was beautiful and the air was warm and salty. She had a good feeling about this little trip.

XxX

**April 3, 2018.**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Owen stacked a set of papers for the fifth time, reading the title card again and again to confirm what he was seeing. It was definitely something he had only seen in dreams, and yet here it was, presenting itself as real. He was so opposed to it that he wanted to toss the stack of papers into the trash, and yet they clung to his hands, because he knew they were necessary.

He finally slid them across the table and nodded, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He spoke to high-ranking generals, a representative from some obscure government agency, and, at the head of the table, the secretary of defense, there on behalf of the president.

It was all very surreal.

"You realize a lot of these soldiers are going to die." Owen had to confirm it out loud. He got blank stares in return, and one thoughtful nod. "You want to send them into combat with little training for this type of medicine, and you expect – what? Lower casualties?"

"We drew this plan based on the expertise of dozens of individuals who all attested that this represents our best chance to minimalize casualties in Damascus." The secretary of defense was speaking. He had a patronizing tone, but he spoke with complete confidence. "I know you have personal objections to our tactics, but it is your responsibility, as well, to ensure minimal casualties, Dr. Hunt. You have given us everything we asked for up to this point-"

"I didn't know you wanted to send them into combat!"

"-and we appreciate the lists you compiled. This is the product. You have had time to look over it and make a rational decision regarding the redistribution of these medical units. I need your final decision."

Owen drew the stack of paper toward him again and wielded his pen, wishing, for a moment, that he had not agreed to take over this position for Teddy. It came with a great deal of responsibility in times of peace, but when the United States became involved in war, that responsibility doubled. He had under his palm the lives of over a hundred medical officers stationed domestically throughout the United States, all of which were about to receive a change of station order. He had unknowingly offered them up for combat roles, listing them as the most capable, ambitious, and intelligent young enlisted doctors. He had their futures mapped out in front of him.

"I agree with your assessment," Owen said at last. He did agree, after all. Having trained medical personnel readily available almost tripled the injured survival rate of soldiers, but it put the new arrivals in significantly more peril than they had ever faced.

He signed and dated his agreement and started signing deployment orders, passing them around the table to be initialed by all members present, and then stamped, copied, and sealed. He read every single name and regrettably was unable to remember them. He wondered if they would read his name and remember it. He hoped not. If even one of them died in the months to come, he would carry that weight with him for the rest of his life.

Outside of the conference room, he was met by his assistant, who offered him the cellphone he had not been allowed to bring with him. He had seventeen missed calls from Cristina. He tried to call her back but she was out of the range of service. She was in Argentina and she had to drive to a cell tower to talk to him, weather permitting.

He went straight back to his office and sunk into his chair, groaning. Before actually coming here, he had loved the idea of having this much authority, but now it was bogging his mind down. Every day he made decisions that effected the lives of people like him. He wanted to go back to being a surgeon and he was counting down the days when he would be able to return to Grey-Sloan. Without even thinking, he dialed a familiar number.

Derek picked up on the third ring. "Hunt! Military life getting you down?"

Owen smiled. His friend had been cheery since becoming a full-time professor. The former neurosurgeon was now a student-favorite and he spent time researching neurology from a genetic standpoint. His hand, useful for anything below the precision of surgery, no longer bothered him. He had moved past it. Owen was glad.

"Let's just say I can't wait to get home," Owen responded. "How is everything in Seattle? Did Meredith finally make up with Dr. Pierce?"

Derek snorted so hard that whatever he was drinking made a splash in the background. "No. No, they still hate each other. Good luck dealing with that when you get back. I'm glad I don't have to be in the middle of that. Dr. Farrah is making me look good."

Webber had gone to Derek to help him look for a neurosurgeon to run the department, and Derek had chosen a meagerly-known, but locally famous man named Adham Farrah. Owen heard about him every time he talked to Derek, who seemed to have quite the professional crush.

"So they got this kid the other day – huge cranial fracture, brain matter and blood everywhere, one of the worst intracranial traumas I've ever seen anyone survive, and he came out of it almost fully functional. Farrah worked on this kid for sixteen hours. He died five times. Every paper had his face all over the front of it, smiling next to this kid who should have died, and he mentioned me _three times_ in his interview. So all my students come in excited about this guy who they assume I taught, and ask me to get him to come into class. So I have to do it now, right?"

Owen liked listening to his friend talk. It didn't really matter what it was about. He missed Seattle and the hospital, and Derek was a familiar voice. He had been through a lot with that man. He already felt better about the decision he had made that day.

"Yeah. You might look like a total square."

"First of all, I'm not a square. I'm a cool teacher. Second, I will. I can. Farrah idolizes me."

Owen rolled his eyes, propping both feet on his desk. His assistant was hovering outside the door so he waved her off. "You should ask him to do a lecture. I bet the dean would love you."

"The dean already loves me."

"Aren't you special?"

"I am. So how is Cristina? You said she was going to Argentina, right?"

"Oh, yeah. She's having fun, I think. Last time I talked to her she was buried in research. She's ready to come home, too."

"Meredith wants to throw a party for you guys, like a little homecoming thing."

Owen grimaced.

"I'm sure if we band together and oppose the idea we'll get our way."

His assistant appeared in the doorway again, pointing anxiously to her tablet. He sighed. "Looks like my time is up. Say hi to Meredith for me."

"Will do."

Owen waved Bethany in, dropping his phone on his desk. She came around to him and placed her tablet on top of it, pointing to what looked like a radar weather report. "You told me to keep an eye on this area. Looks like thunderstorms rolling in this afternoon."

His mind went straight to his missed calls. He checked them and found no messages waiting. The radar turned a deep purple in the middle. Cristina was somewhere nearby. Storms had crowded the area before and she had urged him not to worry – the islanders were prepared and their cabin was tucked into a safe area – but he always went to the worst outcomes.

"I've been going through the news reports and some of them are calling for really intense wind gusts upwards of one hundred miles per hour." Bethany drew the tablet back, frowning. "I tried to contact the project heads to get a report on Dr. Yang and Dr. Altman but-"

"I'll contact them. Please keep an eye on this situation for me." He already had the number dialed and the phone at his ear, but he stopped her from leaving. "And thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I don't know what I would do without you."

She smiled and nodded, departing with her tablet in her arms.

Owen went through official channels until he was put on the phone with the head of the research project, who was updated on their efforts almost daily. He gave Owen a standard report – they had checked in that morning, reporting advances in their objective, and they were not due to check in until the following morning, which was still over twelve hours away. He brushed off the storm as nothing serious and wished Owen a good afternoon.

But it was in his nature to worry about these sorts of things, and the most important person in the world to him was on an island where that storm was going to hit. It worried him.


	107. Into the Storm

**Into the Storm.**

**April 3, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Derek laid in the grass in the middle of his backyard, watching his soon-to-be five-year-old son direct his sisters in a hilarious game of leap frog. It had somehow become an imitation of his favorite television show, which involved knights and dragons and fairytale creatures, and also had elements of at least six other kids' games. He was making it up as he went along, shouting out his orders in clear, direct terms that Derek was intimately proud of. His son was very smart.

He was not alone in his observational capacity. Zola was stretched out beside him, her arms folded behind her head, watching her siblings play with a thoughtful, relaxed expression. She was the oldest and she counted herself as the boss of them.

"Is it okay if Sofia comes over after school Friday?"

Derek looked at his daughter, noting the mischievous sparkle hidden in her big, dark, innocent eyes. "Can you two manage to stay in the yard this time?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then. But remember to ask your mother first."

"I was thinking maybe you could ask _her_ mommies."

"Why do I always have to do the hard work?"

She grinned. "You gotta be kidding me! I have to watch Bailey and make sure he isn't crazy every day, and I have to keep Ellis and Lexie from hurting themselves _all day long_."

"Uh, you have school _all day long_."

"_Please_ can you ask them?"

"How about we ask them together tomorrow? I'm sure Sofia would like to see you and we haven't been to see Manny this week."

Zola hopped up, thrilled with the idea, and dashed back into the house, no doubt to scream her plans at her mother through the bathroom door. Derek sat up and whistled to the little ones, making a circle with his finger to tell Bailey to get his siblings inside. His son looked exasperated, flipping his blonde hair back and putting one hand on his hip in the same 'you gotta be kidding me' pose that his sister used.

His phone rang as he was getting up. "Hello?"

"Derek, hey. Is Mer around? She's not answering her phone or the house phone."

It was Alex. "She's in the bath. What do you need?"

"I just need to talk to her. It's important."

Derek prickled. Whenever someone said something was important, it always turned out to be something awful. He wondered what Alex could have gotten himself into – he knew he was on good terms with Jo now and they were living together in Meredith's old house, and that one of the newly accepted surgical interns was renting a room there. Perhaps they had gotten into a fight.

"Okay. I'll get her to call you."

He went inside, herding his kids into the hall and locking the door to keep them in. He went straight to the master bathroom, where, like he had predicted, Zola was sitting in the doorframe having a conversation with Meredith. He shooed her and grabbed Meredith's phone from the dresser, grimacing at the thirty missed calls from Alex.

"Hey, sweetie." He sat beside the tub, smiling at her. She had been having a rough week, working overtime in several tough cases, but she looked relaxed now. Her head was submerged so just her face stuck out of the water. "Alex called me looking for you."

Meredith's eyes were closed. She spoke in monotone. "What does he want?"

"Did you silence your phone?" Derek turned the volume up as he asked, setting it on the edge of the tub. "What if I had broken my back outside and couldn't get to you?"

"You would send one of the monkeys." Meredith cracked one eye open, giving him a brilliant, beautiful smile that broke his concentration. "It was just for an hour, while I soaked. What did he want? Was it about Jo again?"

"He didn't say. I told him I would get you to call him."

Meredith groaned, throwing one arm over the side and pulling herself up to face him. She leaned in for a quick, damp kiss and ran one hand over his hair, covering it in bubbles. "Okay. I'll get on that. You get on bathing the heathens."

"Yes, master."

"Damn straight."

Derek was laughing as he left her there. He liked it when she was cheery. She had been sulking a lot more since Cristina left. He hoped the prospect of having her home gave Meredith more pep. Soon the sisters would be reunited, and all would be well with the world.

He wrangled his kids, starting with the littlest, into the bathtub, scrubbing away the grime he had let them gather over the day. He was off, and he took full advantage of the sunshine. Ellis and Lexie were almost completely identical and spent very little time apart, so he put them in together, amusing himself by shaping their curly black hair – his hair – until their mother came by the doorway and told him to knock it off. Bailey was a little harder. His dirt stains were part of his skin at this point and scrubbing them off took some real determination. He was a spitting image of his mother and full of just as much attitude, so by the end of his bath he was already mid-meltdown and spiraling back into his toddler years. Zola came last. He filled the bathtub for her and let her bathe by herself, though he hovered nearby and checked in often. She was going to be eight this year but it still felt like she was six months old, and he needed to be there to protect her.

By the time he had everyone in pajamas and crowded at the television in the living room to watch a movie about animated animals, Meredith was off the phone. She looked stressed again. He dreaded the news.

"How bad is it?" He went into the bedroom with her and sat on his side of the bed, leaning up against the pillows. She sat the same way on her side. It was their standard place to have conversations out of earshot of the kids.

She shook her head, placing her phone on the comforter between them. "Jo is pregnant."

Derek was a little relieved, and a little concerned. "And this is a… bad thing?"

"Yes!" Meredith turned toward him, her voice become high and sharp. "Alex is not ready to be a father, and Jo is way too immature to have a kid! He's already stressed enough dealing with Aaron and all his drama, and he works so much, and I don't even think he _wants_ a kid!"

"I thought you said-"

"That was a long time ago! You should have heard him, Derek. He sounded so scared. And yeah, I know he's a grown-up, yada-yada, but he's _Alex_."

"I think he can-"

"And it's not just that! You know Jo is flakey! She's unreliable! If you have kids, you have to be dependable, and responsible, and you need stability!"

"Meredith. Hey." He captured her face with one hand, smoothing his thumb over her lips. "I understand. I trust your judgement. But if they're going to have a baby, that's not what you need to say to them. We should be supportive. Do you remember how hectic everything was when we adopted Zola? People must have thought the same thing about us, but now look at us."

"We run a circus."

"Exactly. Our kids are healthy, intelligent, and they survive on a diet of peanuts and cotton candy."

She smiled, sliding over to his side and resting her head on his chest. "I'm so worried about him. I mean, we all have issues, but his issues are big and child-related. His parents _sucked_. His brother is in a mental institution – his sister won't even talk to him."

"I know. But you had a weird childhood, too."

"Yeah." She pouted, and then leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I have something to tell you, too."

"Well at least I know _you're_ not pregnant."

She laughed and whacked him in the stomach. "God, don't even say that. I was going to say I invited Adham over for dinner Friday night. He wants to cook us something."

Derek nodded and yawned at the same time. "Sounds good."

"He is my guru. He could talk anyone off a ledge."

"Maybe he should be the one to talk to Alex."

Meredith chuckled, joining him in a yawn. "I hate to leave you like this, but I have to work in six hours so the kids are yours." She burrowed under the covers, snuggling up to his side to plant a few kisses on his hand, and then she turned away from him and fell silent.

Derek watched her for a little while, entranced, and then went to join his kids in the other room. He sat on the couch, groaning when his phone rang and he got shushed by four children.

"You've reached the library, where no one is allowed to talk, ever," Derek answered, making a face at his children as he stepped out onto the back deck. It was getting chilly now that the sun was setting. "Sorry. I had four monkeys staring me down."

Owen chuckled on the other end of the line, but his voice was tense. "Have you talked to Cristina today?"

"Uh, no. Why?" Derek leaned over the railing, immediately becoming concerned. Both the voice and rushed words of his friend made an uneasy prickle go down his spine.

"It's nothing. Well, it might be something. There's some really bad weather headed up the coast and it's supposed to hit tonight. I keep calling her but I think she's out of cell range." He moved around in the background and a door closed. "Can you ask Meredith if she's talked to her? I just want to know that she's okay."

"Sure." Derek stepped back inside, skirting the kids and going into his bedroom. Meredith sat up in bed, like she sensed his urgency. "Hey, honey, have you talked to Cristina today?"

Meredith shook her head, eyes bleary. "No. Did something happen? Who's on the phone?"

"Owen." Derek sat beside her legs. "She hasn't heard from her either. Did you contact the embassy? Or their handler?"

"Both. They're not due to check in for twelve hours so the project head can't do anything, and the embassy can't do anything unless the project head asks them to."

"Give me the phone," Meredith said, holding out one hand and rubbing her face with the other.

Derek handed it over.

"Owen, hey. Cristina is going to be fine. You know she hates rain. She's probably holed up with Teddy at home with her nose buried in research."

Derek stood up and stretched. He hated the idea of Cristina being in danger, and so far away from home. He hoped it was a false alarm and they were all overreacting. He had that same old thought arrive at the front of his mind – Meredith would be crushed, three kids would become motherless, and Owen would never be the same. It was an abysmal future he would be forced to navigate, should something ever happen to that woman.

While he thought about the worst, Meredith reasoned with Owen. She comforted him. She had a great capacity for empathy, and though she loved Cristina very much and was probably worried herself, she didn't show it. It was what Cristina would have wanted – someone who could act like a sane person despite going crazy on the inside.

When she hung up, she handed his phone back and groaned. "I swear…"

"I know." Derek kissed her forehead. "Get some sleep. If anything happens, I'll wake you."

She smiled groggily and sunk back down, watching him for a few moments before she shut her eyes. He went back into the living room with the kids, doing his best to focus on what they were watching and acknowledge them when they pointed out details. His mind was elsewhere – very far away, on the coast of Argentina with an old friend.

**XxX**

**April 3, 2018.**

**San Sebastian, Tierra del Fuego Province, Argentina.**

Cristina leaned over the side of the boat, staring into the dark blue water. She felt nauseous and she had a killer headache from all the blaring sunshine, but she was experiencing a rare moment of peace, and she clung to it. All around her the ocean spread out, dotted with little reefs their captain carefully avoided and sparkling in the evening sun, giving a little preshow for the stunning sunset that was sure to come.

She had been at sea all day. Dr. Thomas guided their little fishing boat carefully around the coast, and then took them out further, showing them beautiful, tropical islands and giving them history and geography lessons until someone told him to shut up. Teddy had gone swimming twice, collecting a few fancy shells from the shallows to take home to her son, and giving Cristina one when she refused to leave the boat. Izzy relaxed in front of the cabin, where a few storage crates made a nice little sitting area, and a canvas cover extended to keep the sun away. She stared thoughtfully into the ocean, her mind far away from the rest of them.

It was a paradise, far removed from the grim studies they had been doing over the last few weeks. Cristina had begun to think the world could be reduced into figures and charts. She even gained a new perspective and decided on a better technique for their upcoming surgeries.

Everything was perfect until she looked to the west and saw the black clouds gathering.

"Is that smoke? Please tell me it's smoke."

Dr. Thomas came out of the small building, which served only as a little stall for the captain, and grimaced at the clouds. "No. Storm clouds."

"Take us back to the island," Izzy said, shielding her eyes and peering across the water. "I heard about the storms but they were supposed to be far south of here. We only get the weather every three days – it could have changed since then." She stood up, patting the side of the stall. "Get us out of here before the lightning starts up."

"Lightning?" Cristina asked.

"We are a very clear target." Izzy perched on one of the storage crates, looking anxiously around them. "How far out are we?"

Dr. Thomas answered her. "Over an hour, at least. No way we can outrun that monster."

"What do we do, then?" Teddy demanded.

Dr. Thomas came out, glanced around, and then nodded to himself. "I will take us into that cove and we can take shelter in those trees."

"Great. Can't wait to crash into the rocks." Cristina went to the back of the ship, pulling a folded life jacket from under the railing. She put it on while she grumbled. "Or struck by lightning. Or flipped over and drowned."

"Nothing is going to happen to us." Izzy was trying to be reassuring, but it was harder when she was putting on her own life jacket. She tossed one to Teddy. "This boat is built to withstand a hurricane at sea. It can handle a little thunderstorm. We are just taking precautions to protect you two. Once we get over there, everyone will gather under the tarp. I have rubber mats for you to sit on and ponchos to wear. Try not to be so pessimistic."

"I'll cheer up when we survive."

Teddy put her arm around Cristina and led her to the sitting area under the tarp. They sat together on a rubber mat next to some of the plastic crates, in the corner. Izzy brought the tarp down until it was just over their heads, flipping crates to make it lower, and then she crawled under and sat with them. It started raining within minutes.

"We can't make it onto the beach! The water is too rough!" Dr. Thomas yelled. The wind howled and threatened to drown out his voice. "I'm laying anchor! Stay in the boat!"

"I'd rather take my chances with the water!" Cristina shouted back.

Dr. Thomas crawled under the tarp, completely soaked, and sat with Izzy. They were close, all within three feet of each other, but communicating became a challenge as the wind and rain grew stronger.

And then the boat started tipping back and forth, groaning, threatening to capsize.

"It is alright! Stay calm!" Izzy yelled.

Cristina huddled closer to Teddy. "I hate you! I hate both of you! And I hate you, too!" She poked Teddy in the arm. "We're not friends after this!"

Teddy was unfazed by her words. "I owe you a drink!"

"A strong one!"


	108. Calm Water

**A/N: Hey guys! Since I got such a strong response from the last chapter I decided to go ahead and post this one before I went to work today. I hope you enjoy it! And I promise, I will not kill Cristina. I hope that puts your hearts at ease!**

**XxX**

**Calm Water.**

**April 3, 2018.**

**San Sebastian, Tierra del Fuego Province, Argentina.**

The storm was raging all around them. Thunder shook the deck. Water pulsed upward and splashed through the tarp, chilling the huddled doctors. The boat heaved back and forth, and they clung to the crates and each other to keep from being rolled from wall to wall. Outside the ocean roared and reared against the boat. The rain came down in a torrent, beating the tarp, sometimes shifting into hail and pelting the deck. For the first hour it was impossible to hear anything above the storm.

It went on that way for what seemed like days, but then slowly, steadily the storm began to ebb, and their hearing returned. Cristina began to relax, accepting the storm as part of her reality and moving on from its threatening growls.

It was pitch black, cold, and loud. Dr. Thomas raised his voice above the noise. "You know, this reminds me of the first time I ever got caught in a storm! I was fourteen and I was supposed to be manning the sails, but I-"

Izzy cut in. "Thomas, I love you, but I _will_ hurt you."

"No, no. I think we should talk." Teddy was still right beside Cristina, one arm locked around her for protection and stability. "It might make time pass more quickly."

"I am putting a two-year limit on anecdotes." Izzy sounded amused and relaxed, despite having to raise her voice to overcome the wind. "I have wanted to ask you, Dr. Altman, how you like being able to travel so much."

"I love it. I love to travel."

Cristina looked over, but saw nothing. "So that sounded rehearsed."

"It wasn't."

"It's okay to hate traveling. _I_ hate traveling."

"But you travel all the time."

"I know, but I never said I liked it. I do it because I have to." Cristina got off her knees, planting her bottom on the rubber mat and stretching her legs out in front of her. She accidentally kicked someone and withdrew. "So do you hate traveling?"

"I do, a little."

"Then why lie about it?"

Teddy was quiet for a few moments, and then she responded, "I don't know. I just get used to saying that. When people ask you if you like something they really don't want to hear that you don't. And when Dante asks…"

"You lie so he'll get off your back about it. I get that."

"It's not like that. I-"

"Men are stupid and irrational. I get it. I really get it." Cristina released her arm, finding balance on her own. The ocean was starting to calm. "What I don't get is why you don't just quit."

"What?"

"Quit. Hand in your resignation to the army. Tell them to suck it."

"I'm not sure I want your advice. You have a history of dealing with issues badly."

Cristina grimaced. "I got past that."

"No, no. You're still in the _middle_ of that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You and Owen? You and your kids?"

"We made up."

"That doesn't mean none of that happened. You acted irrationally for months, like a teenager having a tantrum. You're hiding something really big from him and-"

"That's none of your business."

"It is my business. We're partners. We spend all day, every day together."

"That doesn't mean-"

"Somebody pinched a nerve over there," Dr. Thomas remarked. "Ladies, let's try some deep breathing exercises. I can feel your tension from this side of the boat."

"I think it's good for them to get their issues into the open," Izzy supplied.

"It is not so good for them to yell at each other."

"There is a storm. We are _all_ yelling."

Suddenly a light came on. Izzy set a little lantern in the middle of them all, illuminating all of their faces. Teddy was glaring at Cristina, Dr. Thomas looked as relaxed as ever, and Izzy was giving him a strained, patient look. Cristina wondered what her expression looked like as she stared back at her partner – she registered little aside from how cold she was.

"We were saving the lantern for what purpose?" Dr. Thomas asked.

"I was waiting for the rocking to settle down so it would stay put." Izzy patted his shoulder. "I only have your safety in mind."

"I told Owen everything, for the record." Cristina crossed her arms and stared at Teddy, giving her the same half-truth she had been telling herself for weeks. "I told him, and we talked about it, and we worked it out. So I handled it." It was best to redirect, to keep herself from being discovered. "Do you really hate traveling? Is it because of Charlie?"

Teddy frowned, giving her answer before ever opening her mouth. "I hate leaving him. I know Dante is overwhelmed trying to raise him without me."

"Then you should find a local job and stay with him."

"But-"

"Nope. No buts. If you want it, take it." Cristina backtracked, realizing how hypocritical she was being. "I'm working on that myself. So we can both work on it. We both suck and we can do better. We have to call ourselves out and make that change."

"One too many motivational videos for you."

Cristina could sense something lying just beneath the surface in Teddy and she wanted to figure out what it was. She put her hand on her friend's knee, lowering her voice, hoping she could still be heard over the wind. "What is it? There's something else."

"Going home might not fix anything."

"Why not?"

"Dante wants a divorce."

Cristina felt a deep frown settle in. Her spirit sank. Teddy had had a rough time with men, first never having her affection for Owen realized, and then flunking in the dying husband department, and now she was going to get divorced by the man she always described as the love of her life? It wasn't fair. She needed Dante. Cristina needed Teddy to be happy.

"I'm sorry." She had nothing else to say. Nothing else would come out.

"I thought if I didn't talk about it, it wasn't going to happen. I thought I could just… go home, and everything would be okay. But it won't, will it?"

Cristina shook her head. "I wish it worked like that. I wish I could do that with Owen." She ground her teeth, and then sat back and sighed. "Okay, I lied. Well, I sort of lied. I didn't tell him everything… I left some details out."

"I can guess which ones."

Cristina grimaced. "I'm gonna tell him… I just… I tried, but it wouldn't come out."

"I know how that feels."

"But I did tell him about the other stuff. I just made it seem less…"

"Less severe?"

"I don't want him to worry."

"He _should_ worry!"

"When I get back, I'll handle it. But this is a finite project. It ends in August. If I skimp on my word you can call Owen and tattle on me all you want."

Teddy was quiet, and then she smiled. "We're _sharing_."

Cristina groaned. "No group songs."

"Kumbaya my lord-"

"Teddy, I will throw you out of this boat."

Izzy seemed to be listening throughout the conversation, and she saw her opportunity to jump in. "Both of you prefer your home then? You would not travel, if you could?"

"I do," Cristina responded.

"I want to be in Australia, but it's not really my home. I can't think of a place I would call my home." Teddy smiled thoughtfully. "I was an army brat. I moved around my whole childhood. We never stayed anywhere long enough to make memories."

"I grew up in Beverly Hills and never really left the yard." Cristina shrugged. "Seattle is my home now. It's where all my favorite stuff is – Chinese food, Meredith, taco carts."

Izzy readjusted, glancing at Dr. Thomas, but not letting her eyes linger. "My home is here in San Sebastian, but I think… I have been thinking that I want to leave. I think there is no future here."

Dr. Thomas gave an audible jaw-snap. "What? Why?"

"I would be just like my mother and my grandmother – I would spend my whole life here, comfortable, but bored, and then I would pass that on to my children, and they would feel obligated to do the same. I do not want that."

"But your family needs you here. What would your grandmother do without you? What would your people do without you? They trust you."

"I think you really mean to ask what would you do without me, and that is something you have to answer." Izzy looked at him, smiled warmly, and then looked away. "It is my choice, not yours, and not grandmama's. I have to move on."

Cristina exchanged a glance with Teddy. It seemed their candid discussion had paved the way for more honesty. Izzy seemed to have relieved a big pressure from herself.

Dr. Thomas sulked for a while before speaking again, this time not looking at Izzy. "Well, I will be staying in San Sebastian. I don't have a life-altering confession."

"Good for you," Cristina responded.

"You must have something that you want, other than this place." Teddy tightened her poncho and leaned in, trying in vain to warm her hands on the lantern.

Dr. Thomas shrugged. "I want nothing but to serve the people of San Sebastian."

"You have a French accent," Cristina observed. "You're not from her. So _why_ are you here?"

"Just to help where I can."

Izzy stared at him, frowning. "I have wondered that, too. You do great work in San Sebastian, but why did you come? Where did you come from? You must have a family somewhere."

Dr. Thomas cleared his throat, but did not answer.

"You did something bad, didn't you?" Cristina asked.

His head shot up. "What?"

"What did you do?" Cristina folded her knees up, trying to trap some heat inside her body. She was suddenly intensely interested in him, trying to figure out his secrets. "What did you do that was so bad you had to isolate yourself and try to atone?"

"_Cristina_," Teddy hissed.

Dr. Thomas was not perky or happy anymore. He looked away from them all and shrugged again, not wanting to answer, but realizing he was now the center of attention. He heaved a sigh. "I did nothing… it was what I didn't do."

"Stop being cryptic. Just spit it out. We all spilled our dirt."

He didn't look up. "You are a very persistent lady."

"We're all bonding here. Don't ruin the moment."

He smiled briefly, painfully, and then spoke in a tone that could barely be heard above the wind. "I had a son… Ben. He was born with a spinal condition. He required around the clock care."

Cristina kept her mouth shut, realizing she did not want to hear the end of this story.

"He was kidnapped… or he went missing. I hesitated to call the police because there was such an immediate, intense _relief_ when he was gone. By the time they started looking for him, he was already gone. If they had begun earlier he might have lived – so, I am here because I killed my son, and I need to do something to lessen my guilt."

Cristina hated the silence. She had to say something. "You win the sad story contest."

"But I am not sad. That is why I'm guilty." He returned somewhat to his previous state, relaxing a little despite all eyes being on him. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," Teddy assured him.

"Definitely," Cristina stated, jokingly. She got a chuckle out of him.

"Are you really leaving?" Dr. Thomas asked Izzy, seeming to forget what a serious conversation they had been having moments ago. He looked terribly sad.

Izzy put her hand on his shoulder, her eyebrows pulling into an expression of fake pity. "If you want to come with me, I have conditions. First, you would have to give up the anecdotes. I can only take so much. Second, you will not drive the boat. I will drive the boat."

Dr. Thomas laughed. "I will have to think about this."

Cristina took the opportunity to quiz her partner. "Does Dante really want a divorce?"

"You said his name right!"

"Does he really, though? Because that's messed up. You're over here saving lives and he puts that crap on you? Do you want me to get rid of him? I know people who know people."

Teddy shook her head, appearing sad at first, but managed a smile at Cristina's words. "No, no. I think… if that's what he wants, I'll give it to him. If that happens I'll request an honorable discharge and stick to raising Charlie."

"Boo. Boring."

Teddy smiled at her, sitting back against the crate and wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked exhausted, but accomplished, having gotten something big off of her chest. Cristina mimicked her posture, and soon they had all settled in for the night. Slowly, steadily, the storm lessened and the boat became still.

Cristina found a way to sleep. She thought of her kids, of the complicated, blue-eyed man in her life, and tried to imagine their next meeting.

It was going to be beautiful.


	109. Safe Harbor

**Safe Harbor.**

**April 4, 2018.**

**San Sebastian, Tierra del Fuego Province, Argentina.**

Cristina woke to the sensation of water rolling over her hands. At first it seemed like a dream because it was dark and muggy, and her husband seemed to be right beside her, his arm resting securely over her knees, but the water grew colder, and when her fingers stirred a distinct splashing sound reached through her dreams.

She opened her eyes. It was still dark out but she could make out the outlines of her companions, slumped against one another and sleeping. She moved her hand again, sitting straighter when the current of water across her fingers became more obvious. She was tilting. She was sliding. The water was getting stronger and colder.

The boat was sinking.

"We're sinking!" she shouted, breaking the relative silence. She whacked Teddy and banged her hand against the crate they were sitting against. "Hey! Get up!"

Izzy and Dr. Thomas stirred, and the sudden panic on their faces made their predicament seem even worse. Both scrambled to get out from under the tarp, back onto the deck, but as Teddy and Cristina tried to join them the boat lurched backward, turning the deck into a steep incline. Teddy braced her shoulder against a crate and threw a hand back to catch Cristina by the arm, keeping them from tumbling into the gathering pool of water behind them. Dr. Thomas grabbed her other arm and dragged her up in front of him, where Izzy helped her brace against a crate. Cristina helped Teddy up, and then they all got a hand on Dr. Thomas.

"Ensure that your lifejackets are secure, and then jump as far as you can in that direction!" Izzy instructed, pointing off the side of the boat. It was misty and choppy water was all they could see.

Cristina ran her numb fingers over the straps, too panicked to figure out if they were tight enough, or if they were all fastened correctly. Her heart was racing, beating painfully in her throat. She had seen Teddy jump in the ocean on a quest for shells before the storm and she had gasped at the temperature – now, before the sun had even risen, and after all that rain, the water had to be frigid. She stared at it with the intention of jumping, but she was frozen to the spot.

Dr. Thomas went first. He leaped from the side of the boat and landed just within the mist, swimming away with powerful strokes, his bright orange lifejacket the only thing they could see. He was followed quickly by Teddy, who had no reservations about escaping. She was a strong swimmer. She hit the water, gasped, and struggled to swim away from the pull of the boat.

"I will be right behind you!" Izzy touched her arm, guiding her closer to the edge. "Do not be afraid! We are very close to the shore!"

There was no visible land. The water looked deep and menacing. It had been relatively clear the day before, but now it was dark blue, made of slicing waves, and overlain with mist.

Cristina jumped anyway.

The water hit her like concrete. Her lungs locked up and her throat closed for a few precious seconds. Fearing her lifejacket was not going to support her, she clawed at the top of it, trying to hold it together – her finger got caught in one of the knots and pulled it free.

She slipped through the top and sunk like a rock.

Her surprised gasp filled her lungs with water.

Before she had gone very far, or even closed her eyes, a hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her back toward the surface. It was Teddy. Cristina threw her arms around her friend, spluttering, desperately trying to see where they were, and to get water out of her lungs, and to purge everything from her stomach, all at the same time.

"Not letting you go that easy," Teddy panted. She was kicking her feet, but the two of them weren't moving. She seemed to be having a hard time breathing. "God this water is… cold."

Cristina coughed to clear her throat, but she was unable to talk.

Dr. Thomas reappeared and grabbed the handle on the back of Teddy's lifejacket. He looked like a completely different person, his face set in a scowl, his wild black hair slicked against his head. He was a better swimmer than both of them. He dragged them away from the boat.

Several minutes later, Dr. Thomas was staggering upright on a beach, dragging the two women through the sand until they were out of the water. It was getting steadily brighter outside, but most of the world was still obscured by mist. Izzy appeared from further along the beach, wringing out her long hair and still wearing her lifejacket.

Cristina untangled from Teddy and rolled into the sand beside her, trying to get a handle on her coughing. She felt nauseous but doubted her throat was clear enough to vomit.

"Easy, easy. Come here." Dr. Thomas helped her sit up and rubbed her back, looking at the other women one at a time. "Looks like we will have to repopulate."

Izzy laughed, sinking to her knees beside Teddy. She pulled her lifejacket off and dropped it in the sand. "You work on that. I will be here, waiting to be picked up."

"So someone is coming? Did you call for a rescue?" Teddy asked.

"No, but our boat did not come into dock last night, so they will send someone when the sun rises. It is just a matter of waiting it out, and trying not to drink any more ocean water."

Cristina scowled at her. "Har har."

"When the sun comes up it will get much warmer, and this will not be such a bad place to be marooned." Izzy looked longingly at the water. "I am sorry our outing became so dangerous. I understand if you are angry."

Teddy frowned, "You can't control the weather."

Cristina responded at the same time. "Damn right I'm angry."

"Preserve your voice." Dr. Thomas stood again, stretching all the way down the beach. "I will return. Nature calls."

"You didn't happen to bring any snacks in your lifejacket, did you?" Teddy wondered.

"No. I am sorry," Izzy smiled.

Cristina groaned.

"We will be recovered soon, and I don't think you have to worry about food, Dr. Yang. You have fared well on Grandmama's pastries."

Cristina wanted to be angry, but she remembered how lovely those fluffy little cherry pies had been and it brought a smile to her face. She patted her very slightly distended stomach. "We can call this even if you make those tonight, and every night until we leave."

"I can do that. Are you sure-?"

"Yes, I'm sure I want to eat them. I'm not worried about this hanging around. I have a pretty stellar metabolism. It's all the booze."

"I don't know. You've been doing a lot of stress eating." Teddy pressed her lips together, feigning concern. "I'm a little worried."

"Oh? Do you wanna talk about the stash I found under your bed?"

Teddy blanched. "No. We can leave it there."

"Okay, then."

Izzy looked between them, her expression warm. "You two are hysterical. I have enjoyed having you stay with me, even when you hoard sweets under your bed."

Teddy looked away, clearing her throat. "Sorry."

"She does that because of me." Cristina stared out at the sea, and then laid back, deciding she would fuse with the sand until rescue came. "I steal food. I'm a scavenger."

"You're basically the cookie monster."

Cristina bickered with her partner for a while. Teddy eventually laid beside her, and the three of them watched the sun come up. Gradually, it burned the mist away, and they got an amusing view of the boat they had 'escaped.' It was sitting with its bow in the air, stern resting in the sand. Just the tip stuck out, teasing them, making it clear how silly their panic had been.

The island became more visible, revealing a long white stretch of beach curving into a crescent with driftwood scattered all over and a single set of footprints belonging to Dr. Thomas. He circled the whole island and informed them that he had made contact with the local pygmies. Izzy spotted the rescue boat before noon and they jumped up and down in the sand to flag it down. It smartly avoided the half-sunken boat and dropped anchor near the shore.

XxX

Teddy held the door for her companions, taking another bite from her miniature cherry pie before following them inside. She had to eat it before Cristina caught the scent. Dr. Thomas dropped his groceries off in the kitchen and then returned to flop down on the couch bed, nearly causing it to fold in on itself. Izzy went into the back room with her bags and said something to Cristina, and then reappeared, smiled, and went into the kitchen. Teddy joined Dr. Thomas, forcing him to make room so they could stare out the huge front windows together.

"I am glad we are all alright, of course, but it is a shame we do not have to repopulate." He sighed, folding one arm behind his head. "I think our children would be beautiful."

Izzy chucked a box of pancake mix from the kitchen, hitting him in the head. "Bring that up one more time and I will make you sleep in the back with the dogs."

"You are so touchy." Dr. Thomas grinned wickedly at Teddy.

Teddy rolled her eyes. "Calm down." She stood, stretching, and tried to stifle a yawn. It came out anyway.

Cristina emerged from the back room looking a little ghostly.

"Still feel sick?" Teddy cut off her path to the front door. "If you need something, I can get it for you. That humidity will only make it worse."

"We're still waiting for approval on the next case, right?" Cristina sounded meeker than usual. She barely looked up. Her voice was low.

Teddy nodded. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

"I think I need to take a break and head home for a week or two. You already know what needs to be done here. You don't need me."

She did not like the sound of her voice or her pale face. Cristina looked very sick, but it seemed like more than a stomach bug. Teddy wrapped her arms around her friend. "Okay. Let me get in contact with the project heads and arrange a flight for you. Get some rest."

"I could sleep for a week," Cristina agreed, turning and dragging her feet back to the room.

Teddy noticed Izzy watching from the kitchen door. She frowned. "Do you know something about this?" She recalled the other woman going in to see Cristina when they all came back from the store. "Did you give her something?"

Izzy stuttered. "Uh, medicine."

Teddy didn't believe her, but she ducked back into the kitchen before she could be questioned further. Teddy was too tired to pursue it. She knew Cristina was safe in that little room and there were three doctors outside to help her if something went wrong, so she let her mind rest. She planned to get the rest of the defect correction nailed down in the next few days so she, too, could take a break. She wanted to see Charlie.

**XxX**

**Seattle, Washington.**

**April 5, 2018.**

Meredith paced the foyer in the house she used to live in, doing her best to keep her patience despite all the stupid, idiotic things she had to deal with that day. She was going to strangle Alex. She was going to find Cristina and put her in a bubble. She was going to hit Derek with a chair. She was going to tie the arms of Maggie's lab coat together and shave all her hair off.

With all of these things running through her mind and vengeance resting as a haze over her eyes, the last thing she expected to see was a little girl.

She was standing in the hallway clutching a brown teddy bear, staring at the ground, garbed in the same princess pajamas Zola owned. She had dark red hair, freckles, and blue eyes, and if Meredith had been any less vengeful she would have assumed it was a dream. The girl was so out of place in this big house – her old house, where she had adopted Zola, and fought with Derek, and rented rooms to people who had left her life forever.

Seeing the girl made her rage melt away. She approached, leaning a little. "Uh, hi."

The girl did not look up, or really acknowledge that she had been spoken to. She turned around and went into the room on the left, leaving the door open. Meredith followed her, but stopped in the doorway. There was a young man splayed across a mattress on the floor. He was wearing dinosaur boxers and he had a heart tattooed on his ribs.

Meredith cleared her throat.

The young man jumped, saw her, and scrambled to cover himself with the blankets that swirled over the mattress like a whirlpool. "Oh, god, hi. Uh, you must be Meredith. I'm Cole. Uh, Hatcher. Cole Hatcher. I rent this room – here. In this house."

Meredith nodded, immediately amused by his embarrassment. "Meredith Grey."

"I know. I mean, I know who you are. You're an attending at Grey-Sloan."

"Yes. And you're going to be an intern if you ever recover from this moment." She glanced around, finding the house otherwise silent. "I'm looking for Alex."

"He left."

"I see that. Where did he go?"

"I don't know. He was really upset. Something about his wife. Uh, they had a fight."

"Yeah, I gathered that much from the drunken voicemail." Meredith watched the little girl, who had gone to sit in the corner and draw lines across a piece of plain white copy paper. "Is she your daughter?"

Cole nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

"She was probably the only reason Alex let you rent here." Meredith tapped on the doorframe, taking one last, long glance at the half-naked intern and laughing. "Okay then. If Alex comes back, let me know. My number is on the fridge."

He cleared his throat. "O-Okay."

Meredith left the house. She found a little peace in how ruffled Cole had been. Alex told her he was renting to one of the new interns but he hadn't mentioned a daughter. When she found him she had to strangle him twice now.

She hadn't even made it to her car when her cellphone rang. It was an unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"Mer."

Her heart soared. "Cristina? Hey! We were worried sick about you!"

"I'm fine. I already called Owen. I just need to talk to you about something and I need you to listen and be understanding and love me, okay?"

Meredith got in the car and started it, letting the air run. She braced herself for something terrible. "Okay. Okay. Just tell me. You know I'm here for you."

"Mer, I screwed up."

Meredith steeled her jaw. She had a sick feeling about what her friend would say. She knew there were a few moments in life that really defined a friendship. She had to be there for her unconditionally, because her voice sounded so broken. She had been crying. She was devastated.

"You can tell me."

"Mer… I'm pregnant. And I don't think it's Owen's."

Her stomach clenched. Owen was going to be devastated. She felt a stab of anger toward Cristina for putting herself in this situation, and then all she felt was love. She had to be that person for her.

"Okay. Come home and we can-"

"No, no. I can't. I can't, Mer."

Now she sounded more desperate than devastated. Her voice was getting higher, like she was on the edge of sob, on the cusp of a breakdown.

"Cristina, just talk to me. Just breathe and talk to me. Where are you?"

Cristina sniffled on the other line. "I don't know what I thought I was doing. I'm so _stupid_. I hate this! I hate all of this! I wish it would just stop!"

"What are you talking about? Cristina!"

Something was smashed in the background. "Stop looking at me like that! I don't know what you want! What do you _want_?"

Meredith clutched the phone. "Cristina? Is someone there? Are you in danger? Cristina!"

The line went dead.

Meredith stared at her cellphone, trying to figure out what she had just heard. She had that sick feeling again, and she placed it in the past this time. Cristina had been having issues before she left for Germany and it sounded like they were resurfacing in a big way. She sounded like Owen before he went to therapy when they first met him. She sounded completely out of her mind.

She tried calling her back dozens of times but it went straight to voicemail. She started calling Owen, too, until he picked up in a hushed tone.

"Hello?"

"Owen! Where is Cristina?"

"What? Argentina. San Sebastian, I think."

"No, where is she right now?"

"She's there. Teddy checked in hours ago. What's happening?"

"She called me. She was talking to someone else. You need to call Teddy right now."

"Okay. I'll call you back."

Meredith waited by the phone, still sitting in the car outside of Alex's house. She didn't want to go anywhere – didn't know where she _should_ go, or where she _could_ go. She was frozen to that spot until someone told her what was happening to her best friend.

The phone rang ten minutes later.

Owen sounded awful.

"Teddy said she's not in the cabin. They're searching the island now. What did she say to you? Who was there with her?"

"She said…" Meredith struggled to keep her voice steady, and to keep Cristina's secrets from slipping out. "She was yelling like there was someone else there. She wanted to know what they wanted. I don't know!"

"She was talking about having PTSD... God _dammit_! I should have made her stay home!"

"That doesn't matter now. We just need to find her."

"If anything happens-"

"_Nothing_ will happen. Start making calls. I'll do that same."


	110. Free Fall

**Free Fall.**

**April 15, 2018.**

**Zurich, Switzerland.**

Shane sat in the chair by his bed, his eyes on the woman he had scooped off of his doorstep. She was in bad shape. Her hair was tangled, she was dirty with vomit, and she had cried from the moment she saw him to the moment she fell asleep. She stirred in terrible nightmares and lashed out at ghostly figures, waking up to sob, and then falling unconscious and whimpering. If not for her desperate pleading when he found her – _don't tell anyone_ – he would have taken her to the hospital last night. Now it was more apparent that this was not something physical they could fix.

She was detoxing. She was coming down from an astounding high induced by alcohol and any one of a dozen prescription drugs. He recognized the symptoms and treated her accordingly, until the hangover was all that remained. He waited, ignoring calls from her family and friends in different parts of the world – waiting to see what he should do about his lost little lamb.

Cristina stirred at dawn and looked at him with big, bleary, sad eyes. He took her first to the shower and loaned her some clothes, having to hold her up for fear of her trembling legs giving out. He combed her hair and changed his sheets, laying her back down when the grime was gone.

She shivered, so he bumped up the heat.

"I keep getting calls from Meredith." Shane showed her his phone, which was ringing, again, with his old coworker's picture in the middle of the screen.

Cristina blinked, digging her face further into the covers. "Please don't tell anyone I'm here."

"Why not?" He stroked her hair back, kneeling beside the bed to get closer to her. She was not only someone he had intimately missed, someone he had fallen in love with years ago and thought about every day since her departure – she was a close friend. She was his mentor. He owed all of his success to her. He owed everything to her.

She frowned hard, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. She caught his hand and pressed it against her face, whimpering. "He keeps following me."

"What? Who is following you?"

She glanced up over his shoulder, and then cast her eyes back down, curling up into a ball. "Him." She sat up suddenly, grabbing his shoulders and hugging him tightly. "Shane, can you take me somewhere? I need… help with something."

He glanced at the pill bottles on the bedside table – three of them, obviously stolen, he had found buried in her pockets. "You do."

She shook her head. "Not that kind of help." She sat back on her knees, sniffling again, looking pitiful in every sense of the word. "I need you to take me to get an abortion."

Shane clenched his jaw. "Is that why you took so much? You could've died!"

"I know. I was trying to… that's not why I… It was for the hallucinations."

"Cristina…"

"Please do this for me. I trust you. I came here because I trust you. I can handle everything else, but this… I need you for this."

He wished he had never met her sometimes. He loved her too much for his own good. He was putty in her hands. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her – _nothing_. And she knew that. She knew he would do whatever she asked. She was taking advantage of it. He knew it, and she knew it, but they were trapped. Shane would not deny her, and she would not relent.

"Okay. But you have to sober up first. Give it another day."

"No. It's already been too long."

"How far along are you?"

"I don't know. I don't know…" She drew away, thinking, and then rubbed her palm into her forehead. "Around Christmas."

"Sixteen weeks."

She paled. "Is that… is that too late?"

Shane wished he had another answer. "Yes."

Cristina threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, shaking her head against his shoulder. "What am I gonna do? What am I gonna _do_?"

"You can stay here."

She nodded, sniffling again. "Okay. Okay."

"You can put the baby up for adoption."

"Okay."

"I can call Meredith and-"

"No." She sat back, staring at him, suddenly desperate. "No. _Please_."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just cut off your phone, and hold me."

His heart broke for her. She was in a dark, dark place. But he could not do as she asked this time. Something was terribly wrong and she needed help. She needed more help than he could provide, more help than her family and friends could give her.

He got into bed with her and let her curl up on his chest, like she did when she worked at the Institute with him. She was warm and familiar. Her breathing evened out as she relaxed.

"How about we make a deal?" he murmured. "We can forget about all of this tonight and work it out in the morning. You know I have to call her back eventually. You _know_ that."

Cristina sighed. "I know. I accept your deal."

"Get some sleep."

**XxX**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Meredith sat in her living room, staring, bleary-eyed, at the phone resting on her knee. She had been up all night making phone calls, trying desperately to find someone who had seen Cristina. She had called out of work, too focused on her missing friend to save anyone else that day, and she was crowded on the couch with Alex and Derek, who both had the day off. Callie had been by earlier and every now and then someone else from the hospital called to ask if there had been any progress, but the day was otherwise quiet.

Her phone rang in the early afternoon.

"Hello?"

"Meredith?"

"Shane! Have you seen Cristina?"

Alex and Derek perked up, checking their own phones and then listening intently.

His voice told her everything she needed to know. "I found her on my doorstep, strung out on narcotics and alcohol. She was here last night but… when I woke up she was gone."

"She was…?" Meredith had trouble getting that to sink in. "She was _high_?"

"She said she was…"

"Pregnant."

"She wanted an abortion, but she's too far along. The law here-"

"Where did she go, Shane?"

"I don't know. She took the pills with her. She said she saw someone in my room… someone haunting her. I thought she was hallucinating. I was going to take her to the hospital."

Meredith rubbed her forehead, fighting off a migraine. "Did she say anything else?"

"No."

She hung up on him. He knew nothing about her whereabouts. Cristina had gotten what she wanted from him and fled. She obviously did not want to be found. That only made Meredith more determined. Something had snapped in her friend and she needed help.

"Sounds like she's in the middle of a psychotic break," Derek said.

"Triggered by her pregnancy?" Alex flipped his phone around in his hand, obviously anxious. "She was having major episodes when she was here – it must've gotten much worse."

Meredith glared at him, still angry that he had not told her that sooner. She had to shake it off. "I'm gonna call her mom and find out where she might have gone. Alex, try to get in contact with her brother. Derek… I think you should call Owen."

Derek looked grim. "What could I possibly say to him?"

"Tell him we won't stop until we find her."

"Meredith… you need to brace yourself for the worst."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Cristina could…"

"What, Derek? Kill herself?" Meredith stood up, frustrated he would even mention something so terrible. "She would never do that! Just focus on finding her."

"I just want you to be..."

"I will never be _ready_ for that."

XxX

**Beverly Hills, California.**

**April 18, 2018.**

Her home was nothing like she remembered it, but then again her mother was an interior designer and even when she had been a child, the theme changed every week. It was rustic at the moment, with painted glass side tables, paintings of farms hanging on the broad walls, and thin, translucent curtains that gave a warm pink light to the living room.

"What do you think of my tables?" her mom demanded, circling one of the tables in question and motioning to it with both hands. "I got them specially crafted."

"I think you wasted a lot of money," Cristina responded blankly.

"Oh, you are such a downer. Come and sit down!"

"Mom, I really can't stay. I just needed to ask you something."

"You came all the way here to ask me something? You could have called for that. You obviously wanted to see your mother."

Cristina could have laughed, but the sound escaped her. She joined her mother on the couch and relaxed into it, easing a pinching sensation in her back. The room spun for a moment and then settled, giving her a little splash of nausea to go with her headache.

Her mother looked at her more closely, frowning. "Why are you so pale? You know, your friends called here looking for you. You should call them back."

Cristina shook her head. "Don't worry about that. Just… I need to ask you about a market."

"A market? What do you need?"

"_Mom_. Just shut up for a second. Grandma used to take me to a market… with lots of people… it smelled like strawberries… I think it was downtown, with a bunch of signs in Korean. I think I was seven or eight." It was hard to say those things aloud, because for days they had been the subject of her nightmares. She saw the market, felt her grandmother's leathery hand, and then she was overwhelmed with fear and awakened.

Her mother blew a breath through her nose. "Your father took you on a trip to Korea to meet your extended family. You were about eight."

"I went to Korea?"

"Yes. Just once. I was against it."

Cristina felt a whirl of confusion, and then the memory of the marketplace grew stronger. She could smell her grandmother's perfume, and hear the snippets of conversation float past her in a foreign language. "Did anything… weird happen there?"

Her mother tried to lie. It was evident in her micro expression – that brief, reactionary expression that's so hard to control. Her pupils dilated, a sign of surprise, and then she looked away and played with the hem of her dress. "I don't know why you care so much about something that happened forty years ago."

"What happened in Korea, mom?"

"Nothing."

Cristina ground her teeth. "What are you hiding?"

"Why are you acting like this? You should be at home with your children."

"No, I should be at work, saving lives – but dad won't stop following me around, and I think it has something to do with whatever happened in Korea. Tell me what happened!"

Her mother looked at her strangely, like she had slapped her.

Over her mother's shoulder, hanging out at the back of the couch, her father gave a gentle shrug. He never reacted to her conversations and suddenly he wanted to be part of it. His ghostly eyes fixated on her mother, as black and hollow as Cristina felt inside, and her search for answers became more intense. She knew where the solution was, and if her mother would not tell her, she would be forced to figure it out on her own.

"Cristina, what is going on with you? Talk to me."

She knew what was happening. It was not a purely psychological issue anymore. Lingering hallucinations pointed to tumors. She was not in control of her emotions. She was anxious. She was trembling. She was going against the logic that had dominated most of her life.

And she couldn't stop herself.

She got up, grabbed her backpack, and headed for the door. "You really disappointed me, mom. I needed this one thing from you, and you just have to keep it from me."

"Cristina, come back and we can talk about this!"

"I'm done talking." Cristina stopped at the door, throwing it open with a dramatic flair. "I need to know what happened in the market."

"Just let it go. You will be so much better for it."

Cristina left her there, cracking one of her bottles open and downing whatever she found inside. She needed it for the headache that was creeping up on her. By the time she got to the car the drugs hit her, dragging her eyelids down, but she drove anyway. She had a renewed purpose. She was not going to be a victim to the wraith in her head. She knew what she had to do now.


	111. The Search

**A/N: She is evading her friends by using her own bank account. She never merged it with Owen and they never got remarried, so he has no way to know where she is going. Airlines can't give out that information unless she's a criminal or a danger to herself and others, and they cannot prove that she is either of those things. No, she did not miss the twins' first birthday. She was in Germany with her family at that time.**

**XxX**

**The Search.**

**April 18, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"I think if you went in, like you were saying, through the sinus, you could save yourself a lot of time and his body a lot of stress." Derek ran his finger over the bright display, tracing the lines of a tumor that had infiltrated the brain of a young journalist. It looked terrible, but it was operable. "Was there anything else you wanted to go over with me?"

Consultations. It was as close as he got to an operating room these days. Even without full use of his hand, he got calls from hospitals all over the country to consult on high priority cases. He ached to dive in and fix these people himself, but he settled for giving the best advice he could. His favorite hospital to consult at, of course, was Grey-Sloan. He enjoyed his conversations with Farrah, who would be excavating the tumor in question, and found himself lingering whenever the other surgeon called, leeching off of the enthusiasm of other doctors.

His friend did not seem to mind. Adham was a great surgeon, mostly because he was open to changing his methods and collaborating with others. He had been picking up new tricks of the trade since the moment he walked into the building.

He seemed distracted today. "Oh, no. I think the rest is relatively simple. There are only so many ways you can rearrange the vasculature of a tumor like this."

"Is something wrong?"

He looked up, flashing a little smile. "No. I was just thinking about what you said earlier. You know, I only knew Dr. Yang for a short time in Egypt but I thought she was a very charming woman. Intelligent and focused. I hope she comes out of this alright."

Derek nodded. He wished he had not shared his concerns with the other doctor, but at the same time it was nice to have someone a little less involved to talk about it with. Meredith had been on a warpath looking for Cristina since she had vanished from Switzerland, Alex was being stoic and broody about it, and Callie, probably because of her recently adopted, handicapped son, was a little overemotional. Everyone he knew was invested in that woman – and he was, too, of course – but he had a better lid on his feelings. It might have been from his own history of tragedies, that he understood she would snap back to Seattle like a rubber band. He only wished he could express that idea to Meredith without getting his head bitten off.

He could say it to Adham, though.

"When she wants to come home, she will."

"Home soothes the heart," Adham agreed, smiling again. "And thank you very much, Dr. Shepherd. I will be operating later this evening if you would like to observe."

"No, no. I have to run a circus."

"How many children do you have?"

Derek bounced his eyebrows. "Four."

"I hope your afternoon is pleasant."

Derek almost let it go, but Adham had asked him to help him with his language, and he couldn't let that phrase go. "Too formal. Go with something like 'see ya around.'"

"Uh, okay. See ya around."

He was already walking down the hallway when something else occurred to him. He went back into the exam room and crossed his arms. "You spent time with Cristina in Egypt, right?"

Adham looked a little surprised. "Yes, I did."

"Did she seem… anxious to you?"

"She seemed…" He considered Derek for a moment, a little too much sparkle in his eyes. "She was sad, and we talked about her choice to become a doctor, and what she wanted to do as opposed to what she actually did." His eyes grew more serious. "Her friend – I think jokingly, at the time – said she had a drinking problem. But I interpreted it differently."

"Why is that?"

"She drunk almost all of my wine."

Derek frowned. He wasn't sure if it was better to go into a long spiral to the bottom, or to end up there suddenly, completely broken. Cristina seemed to have been spiraling for months – almost a year now – and she had hidden it well enough that no one considered it an immediate problem. Her symptoms would have been slowly growing in intensity, allowing her time to adapt and rationalize, to cope by suppressing them and denying their existence.

He wished he didn't know what that could do to her brain.

"She is a strong woman." Adham was reassuring himself as much as Derek. He seemed to want to exit the conversation. "I have faith she will return, and be well again."

"Did she say anything about where she might go, if she decided to get away from it all?"

"No. I am sorry."

"Thank you." Derek wanted to stay and press the matter, because he sensed there was something the other surgeon was not telling him, but he wanted to bring his ideas to Meredith. She would have a hard time hearing him through the blood in her ears, but behavior was a very important factor. It might help them figure out where she had gone.

It might help them bring her home again.

**XxX**

She was so tired. Every muscle in her body felt like mush. She wanted to sink into the couch, to meld with the material, because couches did not have the kinds of problems she had. Couches had no worries, no kids, and no wayward friends. Couches were just for sitting. Their entire divine purpose could be wrapped up in a few words. They were simple. They were carefree.

Alex assumed the same pose, letting out a long groan. "I hate my life."

"No, you don't," Meredith responded.

"I hate parts of my life."

"That's better."

"What am I supposed to say to her, Mer? I love you, and I want to be with you, and I want to have kids, but I don't want to have kids _with you_. God, it sounds awful."

"That's because it is awful."

"You're not helping."

"Forgot I was supposed to be." Meredith sat up, smacking him in the shoulder. "For once in your stupid life just tell Jo the stupid truth."

"I _can't_ say that to her."

"Well find something better to say to her, because you're deep in it, Alex."

He was quiet for a moment, and then, "What does that say about me?"

"You need to look where you walk."

"No, Mer, I'm being serious. I know I want kids, but when I think of Jo… I don't see a mother. I just see… Jo. You said you always knew Derek would be a good father. Well I don't see that."

"Derek is a great father."

"I mean I don't see _that_ in Jo. I don't know what I see. Maybe she's too young."

"Well you should have thought about that before you married her."

"My side, Mer."

"Oh, right. Well if she's not motherly enough, it doesn't matter. You're going to be a great father. You are sweet, and smart, and loyal. That kid is gonna be so lucky. And it has us – me and Derek, and Owen and…"

"When she gets back."

"Yeah." Meredith steeled herself, resetting the conversation. "This is me being on your side: Whatever happens, I'm here for you. I know Derek is here for you, too."

Alex pressed his hands over his forehead. "I can see it now. Jo is so iffy around you after…"

"After you fell in love with me and went all whacko-crazy when I rejected you?"

He winced.

"Yeah, well, I moved on and so can she. I see it as… we have too much under our belts now. Just the three of us – me, you, and Cristina. We started off together and we will make it to the finishing line together."

"Is the finishing line death?"

"Maybe."

"Way to be morbid."

"Well, that's what you do, Alex. You find your people and you surround yourself with them, and you spend your whole life sharing your whole world with them."

He smiled, cocking an eyebrow. It seemed she had pulled him out of his funk at last, and she had managed to brighten her own outlook. Cristina had to come home now – they had to make it to the finishing line together. No shortcuts.

Her phone rang, and their smiles faded.

"Hello?"

"Is this Meredith?"

Her neck prickled. "Uh, Mrs. Rubenstein? Yes, it is. Did you find her?"

"She was here about an hour ago… you know I debated about calling you. I know that… I have some explaining to do, if I want you to help her. I can't help her anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

She gave a long sigh, and then spoke more softly, putting emphasis on each word like it pained her to say it aloud. "Something happened when she was little… I should have brought it up a long time ago. I thought if… I thought it would never come up again."

Meredith scooted back on the couch, closer to Alex, because she feared this tone of voice. Her stomach bubbled. What could be so awful that she hadn't talked about it in forty years?

"Cristina was with her grandmother… I wish I hadn't let her go."

**XxX**

**April 22, 2018.**

**Gochang, South Korea.**

Everything was impossibly bright. It was midday and cloudy, but the city was alive with color. It was even the same season. She remembered it so well, so suddenly, that it made her head ache. It also made her smile, despite the sick feeling in her heart, and despite the ghost following her. She felt like she was home again – not in Beverly Hills, or in Seattle, but a place she had been before she was even herself. When she was little, and vulnerable, and the world was a puzzle she could not understand, she had seen this place. She had seen it through different eyes and it stuck to her.

She wished she could be satisfied, just knowing this memory was real, and not thought up by her damaged mind, but she had to go further. She kept walking, retracing familiar steps, getting a hint of laughter here, a whiff of perfume there. Her troubled mind relented and let her feel joy again. She was so close now. Everything would finally be clear.

Cristina turned a corner into a crowded market, and the nightmare came to life. The hordes of people faded into a couple dozen, and her hand was held tightly, and bright red robes flashed before her eyes. She sensed tension around her but could not understand it. Something political was happening and the denizens were upset. Her grandmother, always a step in front of her, was not bothered by it. She continued on confidently, pulling Cristina behind her.

Where the old nightmare ended, this new one went on. Her grandmother turned a corner into an alley, taking a shortcut through the city, and they wove through the shadow. The sky grew dark above and the buildings swallowed it up. Smoke entered her lungs. She heard unfamiliar words and felt her grandmother grow tense.

And then they were not holding hands anymore.

Cristina was alone, and the world flooded with blood. She sank into the alley, the memory leaving her, and tried to steady herself.

She was so close, and yet the truth evaded her. She stared around, trying to grasp it, trying to pull it back just to see what had happened after that, but it ended there. Her grandmother released her hand, and the world flashed red, and then she was alone.

Further along the alley, where he had been standing silently to observe her, the ghost turned and walked away, his outline shimmering and vanishing like the last sliver of hope in her heart.


	112. Sinking

**Sinking.**

**July 8, 2018.**

**Lyon, France.**

Her room was dark. It was the first thing Meredith noticed as she stepped inside. Thick curtains were drawn over the windows and the television was off. Even the bathroom light was dimmed. There was a little red light on the bed, clamped around her friend's finger, but beyond that the whole room was eerily devoid of light. It was also cold, and quiet, it smelled of antiseptic – a smell Meredith had gotten used to over the years, but suddenly she noticed it again.

Cristina was lying in a hospital bed with the rails up, her hands bound to the railing with white cuffs. It looked silly, to restrain her after all that she had been through, but Meredith knew the reality behind it – she had tried to escape already.

Her friend had a deflated stomach from her recent ordeal, dotted with stretch marks that would fade in the coming weeks, and partially covered with fresh white bandages, under which Meredith knew she had a nasty incision. She had every type of monitor in her room keeping track of her vitals, and as Meredith got closer, she saw the full extent of this fractious time in her life – her heart was beating erratically, ticking here and there as it came down from a momentous high; her oxygen levels were miniscule and she was malnourished; she was dehydrated. Meredith read the long list of drugs she had been given since arriving the night before and shuddered to think what her friend had been doing these last few months.

She was awake. It was the second thing Meredith noticed, and the last thing she acknowledged. She had to prepare herself for a reunion like this. She had to forget her curiosity, her agony, and everything she had felt since Cristina had dropped off of the map. From what she had been told already, the months she was away could have passed, for her, like days. She was never in her right mind long enough to count the hours.

Meredith sat in the chair beside the bed, swallowing hard. She had been waiting for this moment forever, and suddenly she was unable to speak. She scooted closer and put her hand on the white cuff, resolving to say nothing until Cristina was ready to speak.

"Did you see the baby?"

Her voice was croaky. Her eyes were glazed. She was battling the morphine, and yet she stared straight at Meredith, completely lucid, and gave her a cautious little smile.

Meredith hesitated. "Did he make it?"

"I guess so." Cristina flicked her fingers up, rolling her eyes back toward the windows. "I saw him for a second. He was so tiny. I think… I think they put him on a respirator. He's detoxing."

Meredith did not want to think about any of that. "How do you feel?"

"I got some antipsychotics. I feel _great_."

Meredith managed a small smile. She cleared her throat, scooting even closer to brush the hair from her friend's face. "We're still working out the details, but you'll be transferred to the psychiatric hospital in Seattle – your MRI had a shadow on it."

"A shadow?"

"A small tumor. Derek was the one who thought… he says its operable. He thinks the location might explain at least some of your most recent symptoms. But he said it was a result, not the cause, of your hallucinations."

"I gave myself a tumor?"

"Sort of." Meredith could not stop gazing at her, having spent the last few months imagining her dead in a ditch somewhere. When she had gotten the call to come here, a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "Our new neuro guy can take it out for you, and then the doctors at Green Woods can figure out why it happened in the first place."

"You're really committing me?"

"Because I love you." Meredith settled down to rest her head on her friend's arm. "I love you so much."

Cristina shut her eyes, and a little tear formed under one of them. "I'm sorry," she choked.

"Open your eyes," Meredith said.

"I can't."

"Open them."

Cristina looked at her, cautious.

Meredith smiled the best that she could. "What you see right now – this face, this person – is friendship. I will never turn my back on you. It doesn't matter what you do. I will always come. I will always find you. I will always bring you home."

Cristina gave a little whimper and Meredith sat on the side of the bed, drawing her into a loose hug. She did her best not to jar the fresh stitches, but she had missed Cristina every day since their separation, and she just had to squeeze her.

"Do you think I can get better?" Cristina asked.

Meredith nodded. It was one of the few things she was absolutely sure of. "The doctors at Green Woods gave us some theories based on what we told them. They think it might be PTSD… from a long time ago."

"From what?"

Meredith clamped her jaw shut. Cristina looked genuinely curious, even though the last breadcrumb they had found of her led to the former home of her family, in South Korea. She had to know what happened. But what if she didn't? It would mean the doctors were right. There was a big, brick damn in her head that kept her from it, and it was leaking.

She did not want to test it. "You're going to be fine, and I'm going to be here for you the whole time. Derek is here for you. Alex is here for you. Callie is here for you."

Cristina drew away, looking fearful. "Did you tell anyone…?"

"Only Derek. I got the call and took the first flight here."

"Owen? Is he okay?"

"He's… he'll be happy to have you home."

"If he wants me home."

"I know for a fact that he does."

"Meredith… the baby isn't his. I just know it."

"No matter what happens, you and the baby have a place in my house, and I know you have a place in Alex's house. You don't have to worry about anything. I'm working everything out, okay?"

Cristina appeared immensely relieved, but there was an underlying fear in her that didn't budge. "Can you go check on him for me?"

She knew she was about to step into a very sad situation, but she nodded anyway. She left her friend there in the dark, hoping she would get some sleep after her ordeal. Meredith was exhausted, but she went straight to the NICU, pushing away her reservations. She had to be the adult here. She had been called in as a medical proxy, and she was going to do her best to bring both Cristina and the newborn home – even if it was a hopeless goal.

It was easy to find his incubator.

Meredith stood on the other side of the glass, looking in on a teeny, beige-skinned baby, barely recognizable under all of his wires and tubes. He was on a respirator, his eyes taped shut, his hands covered in mittens, needles resting in his thighs, with a little heart monitor showing the troubling pattern of his underdeveloped heart.

An older woman with a very important nametag walked by, and Meredith caught up with her.

"Excuse me. Are you Baby Yang's doctor?"

The woman stopped, hugging the files she had been flipping through. "Yes I am." She had a thick French accent. "I assume you are the proxy who I spoke to last night."

"I am."

The woman sighed, turning toward the glass and looking sadly at the little scrap of a human being. "He was delivered at 3am, at 30 weeks, when the mother came in suffering from vaginal bleeding. He had severe swelling in his brain – which has gone down since then – underdeveloped lungs, and he is acutely addicted to narcotics."

"Do you think he'll…?"

"I would place his survival rate at thirty percent right now."

Meredith tried to steel herself, but it was getting the harder the longer she stood there. "Did you… did you operate on his mother?"

"Her uterus ruptured and she experienced a severe internal bleed, but we got it under control. She is faring much better than the little one. I am going to keep her here for another three days to monitor her condition. I see you have been petitioning to transport her to another facility."

Meredith nodded along with the doctor, listening intently, trying to make medical sense of something she was so personally wrapped up in. "Thank you. I am. We know some… we know some good psychiatrists back in Washington."

"Your friend is very sick."

"I know." Meredith felt a stab of guilt. She was supposed to take better care of her friends. She had let this situation descend into madness. "Could you notify me if anything changes with the baby? I'll be in with Cristina."

"Will there be any more visitors?"

"Um, no. No. Just me."

She made a note in one of her files, and then shut it, nodding to Meredith. "I am very sorry for these circumstances. I have hope for the baby."

Meredith took one last, long look at the little boy struggling to survive in his incubator, and then went back down the hallway. Cristina was sleeping. She took the chair beside her bed, reclined it, and sent Derek a quick update. She was torn in several different directions – she wanted to tell Owen, to relieve the horrible pain that he had been in while they searched for Cristina; she wanted to tell Shane, so he could be free of the guilt he felt for letting her slip through his fingers; she wanted someone else there with her so she could share her surprise, her frustration, and her fear. But there was something holding her back. Cristina was incredibly vulnerable right now, in every sense of the word. She was not in her right mind. Meredith wanted to protect her more than anything, even if it meant she would have to sit here alone, and deal with this without anyone to confirm that her decisions were the right ones.

She imagined that was how Cristina felt these long months, and how she would feel for a while longer, until the haze was lifted from her mind.

**XxX**

It was evening and the baby was getting stronger, but not strong enough. Meredith stared through the glass at him, watching every little movement of his chest, every flicker of his paper-thin eyelids. It was incredible he had survived this long. Meredith did her best not to assign blame, but his premature birth was definitely a product of what his mother had been doing. He was suffering, his nerves aching like fire, his body invaded by needles and tubes, because he was addicted to narcotics. He was less than a day old, and he was addicted to narcotics.

Shane finally arrived. He rushed down the hallway just like Meredith had, and joined her at the glass, his eyes getting big when he realized what she was looking at. He seemed to read the nameplate over and over again.

Meredith had to ask. "Is he yours, Shane?"

Shane shook his head. "No."

It was a relief, but it left a mystery open. Meredith chose not to probe. Right now the only important thing was keeping him and his mother alive. "Did you see Cristina?"

"She was sleeping." Shane was an experienced surgeon now, and he had an air of authority to him, but it started melting away. He became a kid again. He became the little intern she had met years ago. "Is the baby gonna make it?"

Meredith checked her watch. "He's been alive almost twenty hours now. No, twenty-one. No signs of organ failure yet."

"What about Cristina?"

"There was bleeding, but they said she'll be fine. She has a small tumor – operable, but pressing on her optic path."

"Is that why she was hallucinating?"

"No… it's complicated. We think the tumor came from stress."

Shane swallowed hard. "Does Owen know?"

Meredith wished she had a better answer to that question. She had been battling with herself over whether to tell him. When she considered what was best for Cristina, she shut the idea down. He would cause her more stress than he resolved. She needed the quiet now. She needed a few faces that she trusted. She did not need to think about the baby, or her husband.

But when she thought about what was best for Owen, she longed to call him. He was her friend, too. He deserved to know that Cristina was alive, and that she had a new child, and that the little one might die within the next few days.

"No. She needs to rest."

"I agree." Shane had never really gotten along with Owen, perhaps because he was so hopelessly in love with Cristina – it was his most obvious trait – but he seemed to hesitate to agree with her. He was facing the same struggle, now for the second time.

"I asked them to bring another chair into her room, so we could both sit with her. She has to stay for three days, at the very least, before they'll approve her transfer." Meredith looked over at the younger surgeon, suddenly glad he was there. She was no longer alone in this. "I need to go get some air. Can you stay with her?"

"Of course." He looked back at the baby, uncertain. "This reminds me of the sinkhole, when we thought Collin would… He was so little. Look at that little guy."

Meredith felt sorry for him. His voice was laced with pain – a tragedy she had not been there to witness. She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and then left the hospital, going to sit in the courtyard. It was hot out. She struggled to gather her thoughts.

Her phone ended up in her hand, and she dialed his number.

"_Meredith_? I tried calling you but your phone was off."

"Hey. I need you to sit down. Just wherever you are, sit down."

"What's wrong? Is it Cristina?"

"Owen, just sit down. I need you to listen."


	113. Blame

**Blame.**

**July 9, 2018.**

**Lyon, France.**

Meredith rested her head against the window, surveying the parking lot. It was the middle of the night and the hospital was mostly empty. She recognized a few cars from all the time she had spent looking out that window – the car the NICU doctor drove, the car Shane drove to and from fast food places to get their meals, and the one that belonged to the family next door, whose baby was in the incubator right next to theirs.

It was quiet and dark in her room, as always, and Cristina was sleeping heavily. She had been given more medicine to overcome her wandering mind, giving her a little bit of peace from her horrible nightmares. Shane was in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, dozing, awakening every now and then to reassure himself that Cristina was still there.

When the clock struck the hour, Meredith went out to check on the newborn. He was still nameless, but she thought he had earned his name for surviving this long. He was right at thirty-nine hours and it looked like he would make it to forty. His vitals were growing stronger, but his lungs were still pitiful. He required constant supervision because his skin split away under the IV needle, and sometimes his heart stopped. He had been running a small fever for hours.

His doctor, Dr. Bernard, came to stand with Meredith, clutching her charts. "I have some bad news. His pupils have stopped responding to light."

Meredith drew in a breath, and help it there in her chest. "Did you order an MRI?"

"He is too fragile. We will have to wait until the morning. I suspect this is the final symptom of his withdrawal. Otherwise his vitals are improving."

"Do you think…?"

"I think… if he survives, he will most likely be completely blind. We are already seeing signs that the optic nerve is in distress, probably from the swelling in his brain."

Meredith released her breath, bracing herself again. "Is there anything else?"

"His heartbeat has normalized. If he stays on this path we can stabilize him enough to get an MRI and get a better idea of what is going on in his head."

"Okay. Okay." She rubbed her eyes. "I got into contact with our pediatric surgeon and he's on a plane now. We did our residency together. I don't doubt your abilities, but-"

"No, no. We need all the hands we can get. I am happy to have him." Dr. Bernard touched her shoulder. "I heard you speaking of a husband with Dr. Yang. If she has a husband, we are obligated to contact him to make medical decisions on her behalf."

"Ex-husband. They never got remarried."

"Oh. Well, I will be making rounds if you need me."

Meredith watched her go, lingering near the baby for a while before she went back into Cristina's room. Shane was awake. His frown was threatening to become permanent.

"Alex should be here soon," Meredith told him.

He nodded. "Good. The baby needs him. What about-?"

"No." She did _not_ want to talk about Owen.

"But he-"

"He's not coming. Drop it."

Shane's expression darkened as he realized the implications of that, and he looked at Cristina with all the promises of protection given by a Rottweiler. Meredith had not always liked Shane, but she knew he would do whatever was best for Cristina, and right now she shared his instincts. She wanted to protect her friend from everyone, from anyone.

"I just want to say that it's wrong," Shane said, defying her wish that he drop the subject. He was practically snarling. "She's _sick_. She needs help, not judgement."

Meredith just shook her head. She did not want to engage in this discussion.

Cristina stirred, and the young surgeon shut his mouth. She looked at both of them, gave them a sleepy smile, and placed her hand tenderly on her side. Shane scooted forward to move it, reminding her that she should leave it alone. One of her hands had been freed from its restraints because of her good behavior. She had been trying to touch her stitches ever since.

"I dreamt about the market," Cristina said, shaking Shane's hand off and yawning. "Daddy was there, and my grandma. It was sweet in a sad way."

Shane smiled at her. "How do you feel?"

"Crappy. But less crappy than before. I think I'm better now."

Meredith snorted. "If that's a ploy to get us to let you go-"

"No, no. I know. I stepped in it. I stepped in it _real_ deep."

"The baby is doing good. His vitals are coming up." Shane seemed eager to give her good news.

Meredith kept the bad news to herself for now.

Cristina nodded, and then took a deep breath. It caused her a little pain. "I had a dream about him, too. I want to name him Henry."

Meredith poured her a cup of water. "That's a cute name."

"I knew a kid named Henry growing up. Real sack of crap." Cristina took the water and sipped from it. She had a hard time swallowing. "But I like the name. Does he look like a Henry?"

"I think so." Meredith took the cup back. "Your doctor said we can transfer you tomorrow at eleven, if you feel up to it."

"Medivac."

"Yes."

"Don't let the paramedics touch me. They suck."

Meredith laughed. "Okay. I'll keep a close eye on them." She went to the window, checking the parking lot again. "Alex is coming to take care of Henry. He should be here soon."

Cristina looked hopeful, and then afraid. "Did you tell him…?"

"I told him what he needed to know. He just wants to see you, but if you don't want-"

"No, no. I want to see him."

"Okay."

"Is Derek coming?"

"He's at home with the kids."

"What about…?"

Meredith felt that angry cloud settle over her again. "Uh, no. He couldn't get away from work."

"Ahh. Figures."

Cristina was intelligent enough to see through that lie, to know that if he wanted to, Owen would have come the moment he knew where she was, but she seemed to choose to accept what Meredith said. It was good, and sad, and concerning at the same time.

**XxX**

**Heidelberg, Germany.**

Teddy marched down a familiar hallway, blowing past former coworkers until she came upon an office that used to be hers. She had to pause at the door to put in her credentials, and to gather herself to keep the worst of her anger bottled. She was furious.

Owen was inside, sitting at his desk, staring at the phone.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He looked up, understanding her question but choosing to pretend not to. "Working."

"You should be in France, with your wife, and your new baby."

"It's not my baby."

"So? Cry me a freaking river, Owen. You've been waiting to find Cristina for months and now that you know where she is you're just sitting on your ass? What happened to all that love and _devotion_ you have for her?"

Owen shrugged. It seemed to be all he could do.

"You colossal _ass_."

"What do you want me to do, Teddy? Go to France and comfort my wife, who just gave birth to another man's baby? Oh, wait, she's not really my wife, because she never turned in the papers for us to get remarried!"

"You know damn well it's more complicated than that. Cristina is sick. Something is very wrong in her head. None of this is her fault."

"Oh, we're gonna play that game now? I saw her too, Teddy. She knew what she was doing."

"I was there that night, when she slept with that other man, and I know why she did it. She was suffering. She _is_ suffering. She wanted something to make it stop. It went from that to the alcohol, to the drugs. But the problem is still there."

"Well, I wasn't enough for her then. Why would it matter if I showed up now?"

"Because she loves you."

"Does it matter what _I_ want?" he boomed, rising from his desk so fast that the chair bolted back into the wall. "I have been here, working full time, raising three kids, while she was out there sleeping with another man! I am _so tired_ every single day, but I manage to hold it together!"

"You have _been_ through this. You know it's not that simple for her."

"I know what _is_ simple. We're obviously toxic to each other."

"Where are you even getting this from?"

"She took this job with you to get away from me!"

"No she didn't! It's not you that's haunting her, Owen! Get it through your head! This is not about you! It's about her!"

"I need it to be about me for once."

"I understand your-"

"Do you? Do you understand? I don't think you do."

Teddy took a breath, trying to ease her rage. "Just listen to me for a second."

"No. I'm done listening. I got the same guilt trip from Meredith. You know what? I'm tired of this. I'm tired of bending over backwards to please her. I'm tired of raising the kids on my own. I'm tired of her taking me for granted!"

Teddy came to his side, resisting the urge to smack some sense into him. "She doesn't take you for granted. She loves you."

"She kept this from me."

"She kept it from you _because_ she loves you. She didn't want to hurt you. She wanted everything to be okay so she didn't have to make you feel like this. She hid it because of you. Imagine what she was feeling all this time, trying to be okay when she knew damn well she wasn't, because she wanted you to be happy."

He was spitting with rage one moment, and then he looked away, heaving a heavy breath, his expression melting into sadness. It must have occurred to him right then – in that very breath. All of the hiding and the secrecy was not malevolent. Cristina had never meant to do this to him. She just desperately, achingly wanted everything to alright, even when she knew it wasn't. She wanted it so badly that she hid her pain away, and the product of that was clear to them now.

His voice came in a horrible, soft tone of acceptance.

"So it is my fault."

Teddy hated to see him hurt like this. "We can't control how she coped with this, but we can help her now."

Owen shook his head. "I can't… I can't see her like that."

"She saw you like that. She looked at you and she still loved you, even when your head was so far away. Do you remember that? I do. It was terrible. You went to a bad place and I saw how much it hurt her. But she put on her brave face and she stuck with you."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"You can. I know you can." Teddy wrapped her arms around him, holding back tears. She was trying to be a model of strength for him, not a soppy mess.

Owen took a breath to steady himself. "I have to call Meredith."


	114. Executive

**Executive.**

**July 10, 2018.**

**Lyon, France.**

Laughter. It was the best sound to hear on a day like this. Cristina was sitting up in bed, using hand gestures and sound effects to tell Alex how she had almost bled out in the bathroom a few hours before his arrival. Alex thought it was hilarious, Meredith was still coming down from the shock of it, and Shane was pouting by the window, having been the unfortunate babysitter who found her sinking down the bathroom wall, covered in blood. She had popped a few stitches trying to get up on her own and the blood loss was so rapid that she couldn't make it back to her bed. Meredith would have been opposed to her excitement about the whole thing, but her mood was improving. She was smiling again. She finally looked alive.

"I would have paid to see his face!" Alex crowed, leaning back to smack Shane in the shoulder. "She got you good!"

Shane was not amused. He glanced at Meredith, probably wondering why she was letting Cristina retell the scary scenario like a comedy, and then got up and left the room. Meredith felt bad for him. He cared for Cristina very much, and in this state it was impossible for her to realize she was upsetting him. It almost bordered on mania. Meredith refused to accept that.

Cristina barely noticed his departure. She patted the blinking device hooked to her bedrail and waved her arm, completing her story. "So that's how I got this nifty bed alarm. Your turn."

He hesitated, and then sat back in his chair. "Jo is pregnant."

Cristina whistled. "Congratulations." Her expression was warm, and free of her usual teasing. On any other day she would have bopped him on the head for being dumb, or gone to the other extreme and tried to convince him to name the baby after her. She mellowed out instead, not reaching either end of the spectrum, happy to settle into the middle.

Alex noticed her out of character response as well. "What do you think about that?"

"I think Jo will be a great mom, and you will be a great dad."

"You think…?"

"Yeah. Jo had a crap life, right? She had crap parents like my crap parents, like your crap parents. I think it makes us want to be better for our kids, you know? Like, I try not to be cold, like my mom, and Meredith does that, too. We got all kinds of crap to prove."

"You have had too much morphine."

"But it's true. I think you'll do great." She reached up and patted his shoulder, smiling at him. "If you need a babysitter, call someone else."

Alex grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead before standing up. "I have a surgery to prep for, so you rest up, because I have a lot of other stuff to catch you up on."

Cristina did not seem to realize he was prepping for a surgery on her newborn son. It didn't register at all. She just smiled, and nodded, and turned to look out the window. Meredith observed their whole conversation with concern, growing more worried the longer it went on. She wondered about the apathy Cristina was showing – she wondered if Henry had been placed behind that brick dam in her head, and how they could get him safely to the other side of it.

Alex pulled her out of the room, whispering. "Can I talk to you?"

It was quiet in the hallway. Alex had arrived an hour ago, in the dead of night, and visitors to this unit were limited. Meredith had spent enough time here to know the routines of the doctors and nurses, and those of the other families camping out.

"What the hell is going on with her?"

Meredith sighed, shrugging, wishing she had a better answer. "I think part of it is the morphine, and some of it is her trying to cope with something she can't face yet."

"But most of it is the tumor, right? I mean, once it comes out, she'll be back to normal."

"You know that's not how it works."

He ran one hand over his head, swallowing. There was a childish fear in his eyes, but he tried his best to mask it. "I need visitation at the hospital in Seattle."

"Of course. You're good for her."

"And don't let that _bastard_ anywhere near it!" His voice hit a note that disturbed the nurses, and he turned the other way to avoid their curious eyes. "If I can attach the graft and seal up Henry's lung, he stands a chance of coming off of the respirator. Beyond that he just needs time to heal and grow. I know Cristina is all flowers and sunshine in there, but this is dangerous. I have to put him under and right now he's barely alive."

"I know, I know." Meredith moved him further down the hallway, lowering her voice in an effort to shush him. "If… if anything happens, I'll deal with it. You just worry about fixing his lungs."

"It would help if I could…" He surveyed her, sighing. "It would be nice to have Teddy in there."

Meredith did not want to involve Teddy, because Owen would probably come with her. She wanted to avoid that confrontation until both Cristina and Henry were out of the woods. But she wanted Henry to live, and Teddy was an excellent surgeon. Alex could handle the surgery, but Teddy had an advanced knowledge that could end up saving his life.

She was making decisions left and right, and every one of them clung to her, haunting her, threatening to be the wrong one.

"Okay… Okay. New plan. Push the surgery back and I'll call Teddy. Cristina is leaving in three hours on the medivac to Seattle, but I can try to move it up to get her out of here before they get here. Callie is going to receive her in Seattle and get her settled. I'll stay here in case… I want to be here if Henry dies."

Alex nodded grimly. "When I did my exam, I looked at his eyes. The pupils are unresponsive."

What a terrible fate for such a little boy.

"Have you told Cristina?"

"She hasn't asked. She doesn't even bring it up."

Shane peeked into the hall, and then joined them, his young eyes a little disturbed. "Cristina is acting like Phyllis did after Collin was born. Nothing fazed her. It was like Collin never existed. She never really became his mom after that."

Meredith didn't want to snap at him, but it came out that way. "Don't say that. She's just… she needs time to understand what happened to her."

"Forty years isn't enough?" Alex asked. He looked sad. "Really, Mer, what can they do for her?"

"I don't know. But it's better than this." Meredith ran her hands over her hair, trying to organize all of her priorities. It didn't work. It turned out more like a train crash. "Child services, or whatever the hell they call it in France, should be here soon to evaluate the… situation."

"Did they say anything yet?"

"I don't speak French. Dr. Bernard gave me the gist – Henry is going to go home to the States when he can travel, and then… well, we have to deal with CPS."

"What about…? I mean, are you really going to stonewall Owen?" Shane was on the fence about Owen. Sometimes he defended him, and sometimes he took after Alex and curled his lip whenever his name came up. He had never known Cristina before she and Owen had been together, but Meredith and Alex had, so the understanding was different. He would always seem naïve to her.

She was angry with Owen, and, admittedly, she shouldn't have let it play such a big role in her decision, but it was just that – it was _her_ decision. "Yes. No visitation. Cristina needs to focus on getting better and Owen is a distraction."

"I can't see that going over well."

"I really don't give a crap." Meredith motioned to the room. "How about you worry about keeping an eye on Cristina. Try not to let her bleed out in the bathroom."

Shane frowned, retreating into the room to rejoin his mentor.

"I give her an hour before she figures out how to trick the bed alarm." Alex watched the other surgeon leave, and when the door was closed, he spoke again. "Is he the father?"

"He said he wasn't."

"Could be though, just looking at the kid." Alex seemed indifferent to that diagnosis. "What about the baby? You said Owen would come with Teddy. Would you let him…?"

"Let him what?"

"I don't know. Be a dad."

"He's not his dad."

"He's not Collin's biological father, either, but that never stopped him from being a dad." Alex was, strangely, playing the devil's advocate. He shrugged, trying to shake off his kind words. "I'm just saying, once all this blows over, Cristina and him will probably get back together, and that kid will be all up in the middle of it. You want to encourage bonding now."

"Stop using your psychology juju on me."

"It's not juju. It's just what I've learned from working in pediatrics. Some guys are really crappy dads, but not Owen."

"Is this your roundabout way of telling me I should encourage Owen to see the baby?"

Alex considered her, and then smiled. "Yes."

"I'll think about it."

The two of them started walking toward the NICU, taking long, lazy steps and continuing their conversation along the way. Meredith was in no mood to rush, and while they were moving the things she said seemed lighter.

"I keep going over the situation in my head, and it keeps coming out bad. I think, what if they can't help Cristina and she has to spend the rest of her life in a facility like that? What if Henry dies and nobody cares but us? What if he lives, and he's blind, and Cristina gets better and blames herself for his health? What if her kids get taken away by CPS? What if she never makes it back to where she was?" Meredith took a breath, and then groaned.

Alex nodded along with her words. "I think the same things."

"And I just can't help being mad at Owen for this. He should have seen this happening. He should have known something was wrong. He spent the most time with her. She's the mother of his children. She's supposed to be the most important person in his life and he just let this happen!"

"She was hiding it from everyone."

"I know. I know that. But I want to blame him. And I blame myself. We knew about this before she moved. We could have… done something more to help her."

"We did everything we could." He stopped at the NICU, wrapping her in an unexpected, but comforting hug. "Cristina is going to be fine. Henry will get better. Give it some time and you can let yourself off the hook for this."

Meredith resisted his hug, and then gave in, wrapping her arms tightly around him. She missed getting big Alex hugs. They were extremely rare. He didn't like displays of affection.

When he pulled away, he tapped the button on the NICU door and a light shone on their faces. Seconds later the door popped open, and they stepped into the room full of incubators, each of them sealed to keep even the filtered air out. Babies of various calibers of health and decline, six in total, were stationed throughout the room, some with permanent nurses watching over them, and some with parents holding them delicately, wires and all.

Henry had been moved to the back, away from the viewing glass, and his status had been changed from extremely fragile to moderately fragile. Over the last few days, while he should have been getting bigger and more lively, he had only begun to look more pitiful. His skin was covered in rosette bruises from his unexpected entrance into the world. He had more tubes to keep his organs functioning, and a stabilizer keeping his spine straight. His incubator was tilted to assist his blood flow, because his heart was so weak. He no longer had narcotics in his system and his vitals had been stabilized for the most part, but he was still in danger. His brain was swelling. His optic nerve had already been strangled. If they could not control the trauma in his skull, he would be permanently mentally disabled – cerebral palsy was the most likely result.

It was always a possibility, at any moment, that the tiny little thing would just give out and die, but Meredith still managed to hope. She looked at the little scrap and saw him as a manifestation of these last few months, and everything her friend had been going through. He was the product. He was going to be her salvation. If he lived, Cristina could recover. If he died… she didn't want to think about what might happen if he died.

He was a fighter like his big brother Collin, striving to survive as a tiny little thing in a big, big world. Meredith had to root for him, like she had rooted for Sophia.

Alex crouched next to the incubator, gazing at the baby. "Arizona is covering for me for the next week. I want to stay in case he needs another surgery. If he survives surgery today, I think you should go back to Seattle. Cristina needs you there."

"And Henry needs you here," Meredith agreed. Her stomach growled, and, in response, a wave of nausea rolled through her. "If that baby dies…"

Alex took a deep breath and nodded, like he understood the two outcomes Meredith had imagined for this little boy. He was a rare creature, with all the compassion and empathy to work with potentially doomed children, and all the faith and spirit to believe in their recovery. She was very glad to know him, and very proud of him. She hugged him again before she departed, leaving him to watch over the baby while she made the call to Teddy.

None of this would be easy, but with friends like him, the burden seemed so much lighter.


	115. Fault

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little short. I started nursing school on Friday and this whole weekend has been me reading and writing notes. I took a break to write this because this is one of the few times I did not intend to keep you hanging! I will post the next chapter within a few days as I already have most of it written.**

**XxX**

**Fault.**

**July 11, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was late. Visiting hours were over. Callie sat in her car outside the facility, watching the same set of lights, in the same sequence, pop on and off in one of the bedrooms. She was waiting for a call from France. It had been a rough day and all she really wanted to do was go home and curl up with her wife – Cristina refused to speak to her and had a total meltdown when she was admitted, getting herself strapped to the bed like a lunatic, Emmanuel was coming down with a cold that threatened his already delicate health, and she had not slept since working the night before. She wanted to go home, but loyalty made her linger. She wanted to be there if something happened. She wanted to protect Cristina, but when the damage was on the inside, it was impossible.

Her phone rang just after midnight.

"Meredith?"

"Hey. Sorry. I just got your message. Is everything okay? How did she do?"

"You said you would check in as soon as she got here." Callie could not help being a little miffed. Meredith had sworn to call the moment Cristina arrived in Seattle, to see how the transition went and offer emotional support, but that call never came.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. Henry had a major brain bleed last night. When we got his first full set of scans we found out parts of his small intestines were fused. I just got out of surgery."

"Oh… God."

"He came out okay. His heart only stopped twice. We controlled the bleeding and the swelling in his brain is almost gone. His vitals are stabilizing."

Callie swallowed. Her daughter Sofia had been born prematurely in the midst of a trauma, and news of Henry gave her flashbacks. He was not nearly as small and his condition was a hundred times better than hers had been at this stage, but it still made her shudder.

"How did Cristina do?"

"Oh. Well. She sort of… had a meltdown."

"Is she okay? What happened?"

"The psychiatrist said it was from the tumor. Her hormones are all out of whack or whatever. I think she was just being dramatic because she didn't really think we would lock her up. I think she's majorly pissed off. But he wanted me to ask you about scheduling her surgery."

"I talked to Adham last night but I didn't think it would be so soon. I'll call him back." Meredith paused for a moment. "So she was acting like herself?"

"More like a 'roid-rage version of herself."

"That's better than the complacent attitude she had here."

"Define 'better.'"

"I wish I was there. Sorry, again. You sound exhausted."

Callie had been collecting words to throw at Meredith all day, but they all faded. She sounded just as tired. She had been the one trying to keep a newborn alive, and so far away from home. She had to remember they were on the same team. "I just want her to get better."

"So do I… but you can't do anything else tonight. Are you home? You should go home. Get some rest. Cuddle your baby."

"I actually dumped him on Derek today."

Meredith gave a little chuckle. "Well go home anyway."

"You sound like you need to go home, too."

"Alex keeps saying that. I have a flight in a few hours. I need to get back to Derek and the kids. Owen is staying here with the baby, and so is Alex."

Callie prickled at the mention of Owen. "But you said-"

"It's complicated."

It _sounded_ complicated. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Let's hope everybody makes it until then."

XxX

**July 13, 2018.**

**Lyon, France.**

He was small enough to hold in one hand. Owen held his palm up against the incubator, shaking his head in wonder at the pitiful baby inside. Hours ago his chart had been revised to allow for touching, but this was as far as Owen had gotten. Suddenly the odds were in their favor, his vitals were growing stronger, and his regular scans and tests gave all indications of rapid recovery, but Owen found himself unable to celebrate. He was sitting there waiting for the bottom to fall out. Surely there would be a storm after a calm like this.

"What we are seeing is very positive." Dr. Bernard was doing her rounds. She always stopped to stand with Owen and update him on their plans for Henry. "Every hour he survived from birth raised his overall odds a little higher, and now that it has been five days, I am confident he will recover. His system is adapting. Infants are exceptionally sturdy."

Owen already knew the odds. He knew what Henry had been through, that he was premature, but not very severely, he had been born with opioids in his blood, which were gone by now, and he had undergone multiple surgeries to correct a deflated, punctured lung, underdeveloped, fused intestines, and a severe brain bleed – he knew these things, and understood them as a doctor and as a parent. He had seen what it was like to have a very sick kid. What he had trouble grasping was one of the side effects of the brain swelling, something that was no longer threatening to his life, but that would be central to it if he survived his introduction into the world.

His pupils were unresponsive to light. His optic nerve had been permanently damaged.

"Dr. Hunt, you are allowed to hold him. I am sure I sent a nurse to tell you this." Dr. Bernard popped the top on the incubator, propping it up carefully and taking a moment to gaze at the baby. "He is no longer in danger from excessive bleeding. His surgeries were laparoscopic. We find that babies do better when their parents hold them, at least for a few minutes."

"Is there any way that he could see one day?" Owen asked. He didn't move to pick up the baby. He wanted his question answered first. It was clouding his mind.

Dr. Bernard readjusted a blanket under Henry. "Research into repairing or replacing the optic nerve has been making great leaps forward. One day, perhaps, you would have the option to consider that type of surgery. But for right now I want you to focus on what is tangible. You have to accept that your son could be blind his entire life, and very possibly mentally impaired."

"He's not my son," Owen murmured.

Dr. Bernard nodded grimly, shut the incubator, and continued her rounds, casting a few glances back at him as she passed from baby to baby. Owen kept his eyes on the baby, despite his frustrations. Henry was the product of his wife being unfaithful. He was damaged and he would probably never be normal. Owen was within his rights to walk away at that moment, to focus on his little ones and let Cristina deal with the consequences of her decisions.

It was her avalanche. It was her storm.

But he remained there, watching Henry, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wasn't sure if he felt obligated, or if he simply had nowhere worthwhile to go. Meredith would not let him see Cristina, but she had given him complete access to Henry. Why? He stayed for that, also. He was sure beyond his frustration and anger about the whole situation that there was a reason behind this. He just couldn't see it yet.

He also couldn't see this little scrap ever being a real part of his family. And he couldn't see Cristina ever coming back into his life. It would never be the same again.

And it was all because of Henry.


	116. Funnel

**Funnel.**

**July 13, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Everything came through a funnel in the Facility.

It was like wearing an opaque plastic cone, with harsh lights reflected in the edges, making vision a matter of telling the blurs apart from each other. Blurry doctors and blurry nurses. Blurry trays of food and blurry cups with pills in them. Blurry magazines. Blurry television. Blurry faces and blurry expression. It took a while for things to clear up, for her mind to adjust to the brightness, to this new and unfamiliar place, and it happened in stages.

First came the talking. Responding. She started coming out of the antipsychotics and found her way back to sarcasm. Blurry doctors were not amused by sarcasm.

Beyond that was the participation. Over the course of two days she went from unwillingly sitting still for shots to unwillingly sitting still for group therapy. She made eye contact, sometimes aggressively, but she walked on her own two feet, and grumbled with her own head. It became less fuzzy the more decisions she made.

Gradually, and with the most difficulty, came reality. She knew where she was and why she was there. She knew what she had done – vaguely. She was an addict. She knew the signs of detox. But it went beyond that. It was always more complicated. Each time she stepped through a shell of reality, it became more complex. She had responsibilities to her friends. She was here, instead of at work or home with her kids. She was here, and no longer pregnant, although the entire pregnancy was the biggest blur of them all. She was assured she really was, and that she had another child, but she couldn't remember his face. His name was Henry. Only that stuck.

Blurry doctors became real people on that second day, in the middle of the afternoon. Dr. Garfield was hers. He was impressed with her progress, and critical of some of her behaviors, and it was through his funnel that she got news of the outside world.

Strangely, the world still seemed to be turning.

"I just want to make sure we are clear." He spoke with an accent. She could not place it. He sat with his chart in a half-circle chair, spinning it gently back and forth as he spoke. "You spent several months in a drug-induced psychosis. You are suffering from malnutrition, but now that you're eating, we can solve that very quickly. You'll start to feel better."

"I know that." Her own voice was always the most surprising. Plain. Cold. Empty.

He used his pen to scratch his forehead. "Your son is doing well."

She felt a pang of guilt.

"You named him Henry, right?"

Cristina nodded.

"Why that name?"

"I don't remember." She tried to put herself back in the hospital he had been born in – she was told it was in France – but the memories were completely blank. "I knew a kid named Henry when I lived in Beverly Hills. He sucked. But I like that name, I guess."

Dr. Garfield nodded, giving a little half smile. "And I feel the need to inform you that someone calls just about every hour to check up on you."

Cristina smiled. It felt good, but it faded quickly. "Meredith?"

"She is one of them." He marked someone on his clipboard, nodding to himself. "Now, Dr. Yang, I have to ask. Do you know where you are? Do you know how you got here?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Well, let me outline our plan for you. You will attend group therapy each day, starting today, and individual sessions in the morning every day. If you do well, we can space those sessions out and give you time for other things."

She withheld a groan.

He cocked an eyebrow. "I know you have expressed… displeasure… with group sessions."

"I don't really do the touchy feely thing."

"And how has that worked out for you so far?"

She winced.

He nodded importantly. "I see." He set his clipboard on the table beside him and folded his hands. "I want to touch base today and start with what brought you here."

"Drugs."

"No."

"You're gonna get philosophical, aren't you? Please don't. I hate psychiatrists."

"I want to talk about what happened in Korea."

Cristina stiffened. Korea was her clearest memory in all of this. She had gone there hoping to discover the truth beyond the figure that was haunting her. She knew something happened there but it was out of her grasp. "W-W-What happened?"

"You have no memory of it?"

"I just know that something happened. Tell me."

His bushy red eyebrows formed a bridge over his eyes. He was very serious all of the sudden. "You were eight years old when you visited South Korea with your family, right?"

Cristina felt a jolt. "I-I-I don't know."

"Your grandmother, Hye Yang, took you to a religious festival."

"T-T-The red robes." She could see it now. Blood red robes flashing in the sunlight, and a leathery hand holding onto her. She was laughing.

He nodded. "But when you went to leave, you and your grandmother encountered a gunman."

"A… a what?"

"He was in an alley. He shot your grandmother in the chest."

The red robes flashed brighter this time. Cristina shrunk away from it. "No."

"He turned the gun on you next, but decided not to shoot. He dropped his gun and tried to run away with your grandmother's purse."

She remembered. It all came back to her violently.

"You picked up the gun, Cristina."

"I shot him." Her voice trembled. Those words were enough to take her breath away. She withheld the final statement, but it repeated over and over in her head. To death. I shot him to death.

"At the time, a very misguided psychiatrist believed that insisting this never happened was better for you, so they did just that. It worked the first time, so over the years you've been using it as your primary coping method – suppression and denial. You have a severe case of repressive PTSD, Dr. Yang." He paused for a little longer than a heartbeat. "But the good news is, we have the point of origin, the original trigger. From this point on, it'll be a long road, but I believe we can work through this."

Cristina didn't feel like talking anymore. She stared at the carpet, putting the events in order. She remembered it now, and wondered how she ever could have forgotten. It was her first real look at blood – blood running out from someone she loved. It would happen again a year later when her dad died. She went through stages of anger at her parents for pretending it never happened, and grief for the grandmother she had forgotten she had.

"While you're in this facility, our focus is on recovery. I know you're aware of the outside world and all the things going on out there – things you must be eager to get back to – but right now it's all about the interior. We need to work on new coping methods. We need to pick through your life and unspin this web you've been spinning in your head. Do you understand?"

Cristina nodded, and swallowed. "Can I go now?"

"You have two options for this afternoon. I said earlier I wanted you to go to group therapy, but you can also return to your room. I think group would be beneficial to you."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine. Group. Whatever."

Dr. Garfield smiled. "Come with me."


	117. Motivation

**Motivation.**

**July 24, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

When she came through the doors, it was like the last few months had never happened. She got a glimpse above the cloud, beyond the haze of fear and shame. She came back to that smile, that lovely, friendly smile, and she was allowed a moment of joy.

Cristina threw her arms around Meredith, holding on tightly.

Her friend laughed a little, and cried a little. "I made a cake with a file in it."

Cristina went on hugging her, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. "I need updates. I need surgical journals. I need sutures and scrubs, Mer."

Meredith pulled away a little, grinning, wiping her eyes. "You sound better."

"I feel better."

"Come on." Meredith led her back to the chairs, which were placed strategically so they could look at each other while they visited. It was something the facility prided itself on. Meredith wrapped both arms on one side of the chair and rested her chin there, yawning, smiling, eyes sparkling. "Today is the day."

"Is it?" Cristina sunk into her own chair, folding her legs under her. They had talked about it on the phone a hundred times, so much that she almost thought it would never happen.

Meredith nodded, and hummed somewhere inside, appearing pleased with herself. "Six dozen initialed pages later, and I'm Henry's official guardian. He's doing much better. He's on a plane right now, and from there he'll be admitted to Grey-Sloan. Arizona is taking his case. His eyes…" she paused, and appeared less pleased, and less willing to go on. "He'll be blind, permanently. And we have no way to know yet how advanced the brain damage is. But right now, it looks like he'll survive. When all the dust settles, you get to take him home."

Cristina let the words spill out. "I wish I had…" But they got stuck, right there in her throat. She wished for too many things, things that would never be okay again.

Meredith watched her intently, "I know."

For a few moments, Cristina sat in silence, trying to push that pain away. Regret was a nasty feeling. It had all the right tools to choke her. But she was curious about other things. She needed to know, no matter what it did to her.

"What about Owen?"

Meredith smiled again, unexpectedly, and sat up. "He's in love with Henry already." She waited, and when it became apparent that Cristina was content to be silent, she went on, "And your girl got married. Her name is Dr. _Herman_ now."

"We need a nickname, immediately. I refuse to call her that."

"Alex has been calling her Hermit, but I prefer Baby-Yang."

"_Why_?"

"You _inspire_ her." Meredith spread her hands dramatically, laughing. "Your heroics with the crush victim in the café, remember?"

"Barely."

"Well, she remembers, and she thinks you're just the greatest person ever."

"Please tell me she didn't say that."

"She didn't have to. She has a picture of you in her locker."

"Oh, God, no."

Meredith giggled. "Your brother is… interesting."

"He is not my brother."

"He seems to disagree."

"Mer, he's not my brother."

Meredith held up her hands, surrendering, "Fine, fine. _Wyatt_ is interesting. I would call him Baby-Yang if he wasn't so tall."

"His last name is Rubenstein."

"I know that. But it might as well be Yang. You do realize he's your carbon-copy, right?"

Cristina groaned, enjoying the conversation, but wishing it had another topic. "Wyatt and I are nothing alike. I barely knew him."

"How old were you when he was born?"

"Seventeen. I went to college a year later. Barely saw him after that."

It got quiet again, but Cristina was alright with it. She liked seeing a friendly face, after spending so long being smiled at by doctors and nurses in this stupid place. She was tempted to beg Meredith to bail her out, but she realized that would ruin the progress she was making. She really was trying to get better. She felt like herself again, if not a little shaky, and the problems that had plagued her seemed miniscule now. She wished she could explain it to Meredith, to get that sad, worried look off of her face, but she was going to have to _show_ her instead.

"Can I see Owen?"

She had been getting information through a funnel while locked away in this place. Owen was still in France with the baby, and her babies were being looked after by Derek in Seattle. If the baby was moving to Seattle today, Owen would be with him.

Meredith looked uncertain. She gave Cristina that motherly face she used on her kids. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I want to apologize. I'm ready."

Meredith glanced at the visitation window, and then slipped a phone out of her pocket and handed it to Cristina. "Keep it short. I don't wanna get busted for giving you that."

Cristina dialed that familiar number, wondering, briefly why, in all this time, he had never changed it. Perhaps he always wanted her to be able to reach him. Perhaps it was just because he was lazy, and inept with technology, and there was no point to fix something that wasn't broken. She liked to think it was the former.

He answered almost immediately, like he was waiting by the phone.

"Mer, how did it go?"

Oh, that voice. It was full of memories that had become like dreams recently. She felt the same way she had when she saw Meredith – free of the pain, and uplifted. It was like she had been given a second chance, when she knew the votes had not yet been fully counted. But there was this powerful joy in her, maybe a product of the medicine, maybe because she was relieved about finally knowing the truth, maybe because she knew her baby would live.

She smiled, and saw Meredith smile reflexively, and turned sideways in the chair to rest her head on the arm. "Hi."

He was quiet.

For so many precious seconds, he said nothing.

She checked the phone, convinced he had hung up the moment she spoke, but the timer ticked away. Cristina held it to her ear, just waiting.

And then, finally, "Cristina?"

If longing had a voice, if it were a person, if it could answer a phone and say her name, she knew that was what it would sound like. It broke her heart. It challenged that joy inside. But she would not let her happy tower topple.

"Yeah. It's me."

He came back quicker, his voice a little hesitant. "How are you?"

"Better. Much better."

"I wanted to… I wanted to see you, but Meredith thought it was a bad idea."

He was defending himself. Cristina glanced at Meredith, and let in a glimmer of guilt. "It probably was, back then. I think I'm getting better now."

"I'm glad." His voice was as sweet as it had ever been, as genuine as all the times he had told her he loved her during the long, and short, time they had known one another. But there was a reservation inside of him. She knew it. She felt it. It came from both of them.

Owen had to be asking himself the same questions. Would things ever be okay again? Would they ever find each other, in all of this mist?

She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, and do what the doctors had been telling her to for so long – to forgive herself, and come to terms with what she had done, and to face the future with the person who made up the very foundation of her life.

But she was so far away.

"Um, I have to go. Meredith wasn't supposed to let me call anyone. Part of the… the process, I guess." Cristina caught a breath before it could become a sob. "How is…?"

"Henry is fine. Right here beside me. And as soon as they say he can leave the hospital, I'm gonna bring him out there to see you. I swear. If you get out before he does, you know, Meredith will bring you right over. I know she will." He paused, and listened. "Cristina…"

She hung up.

Cristina handed the phone back to Meredith.

"Hey." Meredith came over to her chair, sitting on the arm and drawing Cristina into a tight hug. She rocked her gently from side to side, like she was holding a child. "Dr. Garfield said if you keep doing well like this, you could get out in three weeks, maybe two. Until then, if you're up to it, I know a few people who want to come and visit you. Someone every day. You don't have to be alone. You never have to be alone again."

Cristina hugged her back, and shut her eyes tightly. "Not Collin."

"But-"

"No, Mer. I don't want him to see me like this. He's my motivation. If I want to see him, I have to get better. Just… just tell him I'm coming home soon."

Meredith nodded into her shoulder. "I can stay as long as you want."

"You should probably…" Cristina pulled out of her grasp, and smiled when Meredith frowned at her. "Get those puppy dog eyes out of here. I have to go to group. Healing, remember?"

Meredith flashed a grin. "I can bring the twins by tomorrow. Baby snuggles."

Cristina nodded, a little reluctant, but the guilt over how much of their young lives she had already missed hung over her. "Just not Collin. I mean that."

"Okay. See you soon."


	118. Resolve

**Hey guys. I live in North Carolina, and since Hurricane Matthew smacked the crap out of the east coast, my nursing classes have been cancelled. Although the hurricane departed days ago, the impact is lasting, as water is draining across my state at this very moment. Rivers are still rising. Entire neighborhoods and businesses are submerged. Roads and bridges have been washed out. Highways are underwater. Dams are still breaking. We in a state of emergency here. My brother lost his house to rising water and many people have lost their lives, even this long after its departure. We really got blindsided by the flooding.**

**With all of this going on I wanted to give you something lighter to read. I don't know if any of you live in or around the Carolinas, Georgia, or Virginia, but if you do, I hope this gives you something to take your mind off of this tragedy.**

**With love, as always,**

**Jenthewarrior.**

**XxX**

**Resolve.**

**August 6, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was a short walk outside, and it really should have been a relief, to get some fresh air apart from that terrible courtyard they had group therapy in, but as soon as her feet hit the grass Cristina was overwhelmed with dread. Her problems became more than ideas, and weighed her down like concrete. But Meredith was there beside her. She held her hand, and guided her into the car, hopping in and driving off before Cristina could think to panic and change her mind.

It was done. It was too late to go back now.

"Hospital first. Henry is stable so you can hold him if you want to. Owen is bringing the kids but I told him to just leave them with Derek for a little while so you can see the baby first."

She talked throughout the drive, bringing Cristina up to speed, again, on everything that had happened since she left with Owen for Germany. Rambling seemed to make her feel better, so Cristina let her go on and on, and stared quietly out the window, listening, and storing that information, but keeping her thoughts to herself.

When they pulled up to the hospital, her hands were shaking.

She stepped out of the car, and looked up at that familiar building, and then down at her trembling hands. She knew what it was. It was the prospect of holding Henry. Meredith had just glanced over that, but it was the thing that really stuck. Holding him. Did she even have that right?

Meredith walked her inside, skirting populated areas until they got to the elevators. Cristina saw a few friendly faces smiling at her arrival, but she avoided their eyes.

In the elevator, Meredith rubbed her shoulders. "Relax. Deep breaths."

Cristina laughed. "You're the one bouncing."

"I know. Sorry. Just having you back here… dream come true."

Cristina stepped into pediatrics, and took another deep breath, letting Meredith guide her to the correct incubator. She had only ever really seen pictures, and those were blurry in her memory, so when they stopped beside his nametag, it was like seeing him for the first time.

He was tiny.

He had been born about a month previously, on the 8th of July, at thirty weeks' gestation, weighing four pounds and nine ounces, with fused intestines, a bleed in his brain, and narcotics in his bloodstream. Since then he had grown.

Cristina said the first thing she noticed out loud.

"His hair."

Meredith nodded, hugging her shoulders and looking over at the baby. "I know, right? I told you it was a jungle."

He was a tiny, pitiful little thing, with a full head of raven-black hair that curled up into fabulous locks. Noah had hair like that. She smiled, thinking, for the moment, that he got it from her, but that was not the case. It came from his biological father. She drew up an image of the man she had spent the night with in Port Said, picturing him more clearly than she could her own twins. He had that curly hair, that brown skin, and beneath those lids she would bet anything his eyes were green.

"You can hold him." Meredith encouraged, unlocking the top of the incubator.

Cristina put her hand over the lid, stopping it from opening. "Just… Give me a second."

Meredith stepped back, crossing her arms, and waited.

For the longest time she couldn't bring herself to open that incubator. With it, with that simple motion, with that seemingly innocuous motion, she would have to really face up to the things she had done. This made it real. This made it all read. It made the concrete inside her heavier.

But she had promised herself she was going to do this.

She opened the lid, and doused her hands in sanitizer, letting it dry completely and giving it a few moments, before she dared even stroke his tiny little arm.

His skin was soft. It reminded her of the twins when they were born.

Delicately, hesitantly, like she was picking up the pieces of a broken mirror instead of a baby, she drew him out of his little nest and cradled him against her chest.

Holding him brought a sob out of her.

"Hi little man," she murmured, stepping back, navigating all of his wires and attachments, to sit in the little rocking chair beside his incubator. Her arms were stronger than she expected. Meredith hovered, as if she might drop him, but Cristina got the feeling that would never happen.

When she looked at him, she saw the future spelled out.

He would become a little boy, with big, bouncing black curls, and a lively smile, and though he would never see her face, or the faces of the family that loved him, he would be _loved_. She already loved him. She _loved_ him. She loved him more than she thought she might, after feeling the things she felt. The shame and the guilt were still there, stuffing her head, not allowing her peace, but she was strong enough to keep smiling.

"I'm your mommy. Yes, I am. Hi little man. I know you had a rough start, I know, but me and you are on the mend. We are. We can only go up from here."

She had so many things to say to him, but barely enough breath.

"I'm so sorry… for causing this. For hurting you. But I promise, Mommy will never hurt you again. Not ever. And nobody else will. I'm here. I'm never letting go, okay? Never."

"Collin is bouncing in the window."

Cristina looked up, noticing those beautiful blonde curls for the first time. He looked ecstatic, grinning, throwing his arms up. He barely made it over the wall, but he was determined to keep it up. Derek was standing beside him, smiling.

"Get some rest, buddy." Cristina set the baby gently in his incubator, shutting the lid, and reassuring herself that everything was right back where it was supposed to be.

Derek tipped the door open, and let the little monster come in.

Collin ran straight into her arms. Cristina stood up, holding him just like she did when he was tiny, and finally, the tears came. She carried him outside, standing there at the glass. He held on, and said nothing, his arms like a vice around her.

Meredith guided her to an empty room and she sat on the bed with her son, stroking his back, and he just held on for dear life.

She stayed with him for over an hour, making promises like those she made to Henry. Noah and Evelyn came in with Meredith, and looked uncertain about her. It stung, to see how little they recognized her after all this time. It was just another failing she needed to make up for.

Meredith took the twins out, and pried Collin off, and sent them home with Derek as evening was arriving at the hospital. She sat with Cristina and held her, and Cristina cried, and not once did her friend judge her, or state the obvious, or try to add deserved guilt to the pile. She had been the one to take the kids in when Owen went to France to be with Henry. She had been the one visiting almost every day at the hospital, calling morning and night, organizing, signing, and advocating for Cristina since this awful storm started. But the weight of those responsibilities seemed to lift now that they were together again. Cristina vowed not to let her down.

She vowed not to let any of them down.

When her phone dinged, Meredith did not check it. She looked at Cristina, squeezing her hand, and said, "Owen is here."

Cristina could have said she didn't want to see him, and that would've been the end of it, surely. It would have been the easy way out. But she really did want to see him. Badly. It was the last weight that needed to be added to the pile – facing up to what she did to him.

"Okay." She swallowed. "I'm ready."

"We don't have to do this here. We could go home, to my house."

"This is home," Cristina said, laughing. "This place. We met here, we might as well…"

Meredith seemed to want to object to that unspoken ending, but she let it be. In the last few weeks she had really flopped over to the other side of the Owen train. Cristina was still in the middle, tied to the tracks, waiting to be run over.

She left the room, and the minutes passed.

Someone knocked.

Cristina stiffened. "Owen?"

He stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

It would have been a lie to say he looked just like he did when she last saw him. It had been months. He was older now, older than when years had passed between them. It was her fault. But she probably looked older, too. She had gone way off the deep end, and he had struggled to raise three kids by himself, probably wondering where she was, if she was dead, if he would ever see her again. And then this heap of crap was dropped in his lap. A baby that wasn't his, with disabilities straight out of the womb. A drug-addict wife just coming out of the asylum.

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of this.

When he saw her there was this glimmer of relief in his eyes, followed by mounting disgust, and anger. All the things he had locked up throughout this ordeal.

"I can't believe…" he started, and stopped, those words grinding out of his throat, his tone absolutely venomous. "You have the nerve to just… How can you even…? Did you even think…? Do you have any idea…?"

Cristina braced herself. This was what she was waiting for. The storm. The dam was breaking. Finally, someone would put the blame where it really belonged.

Someone would finally tell her the truth.

"You were irresponsible! Childish! Selfish! Just plain _stupid_! How could you think any of this was okay? You have three kids! Collin asked me every day where you were! You broke his heart, Cristina! You made a happy little kid into an anxious mess, because his mom keeps leaving him behind. What is he supposed to think? Hmm? What about the twins? Do you even recognize them? Do you remember their names? I showed them pictures of you all the time and when you saw them today, you scared them. Have you even looked in the mirror? Look what you did to yourself. Look what you did to us."

She nodded along with him, numbing to the tirade. He was right. He was absolutely right.

"I hate you right now. I hate you. I hate you for what you did to them, to me." Owen put his hand over his mouth, shaking his head, his eyes watering. "Come home."

Cristina looked up sharply, convinced she was hearing him wrong. "What?"

"Come home." Owen swallowed, stepping closer, and then away. "I just want you to come home. We can work through all of this… all of this _crap_."

"You want me back…?"

He nodded, sniffling, pacing a little. "It wasn't all you. I should have… all of us should have… but we can't go back. We can't. And when I think of the future, what I see is you. I see you. I see you and our beautiful kids, and our life together. I see you going back to surgery, back to what you love. I see a long, long life together. You're not just… you're not just temporary, Cristina, no matter how you might feel for me right now. I love you. I breathe you. I thought about you every day, and every day my heart broke because I thought you didn't want me anymore."

His voice broke around those words, and he sobbed.

Cristina stood, before she could get a thought in, and wrapped her arms around him. She held onto him like Collin had held onto her, using him as a life raft. What he said jumbled up inside, beyond belief, but even if none of it was true, the words gave her back her joy.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried. "I screwed everything up!"

"We can fix it together. We can fix it together."

She buried her face in his shoulder, and blinked, and chased the dark away.


	119. Unconditionally

**Unconditionally.**

**August 9, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina had a list of things she wanted to accomplish in the following months. She had it all written out in her notebook and she became obsessed with meeting her goals, with following through on the things she had promised her family. Owen had forced her to move 'go back to work' to the bottom of the list, under 'reconnect.' Meredith had suggested she flip a few things to give priority to herself first, and her family second. When no one was looking, she arranged them the way that she wanted, convincing herself that the order hardly mattered. Everything on that list was going to get done, and it was going to get done promptly.

Callie held up a pink onesie with a flower on the butt, grimacing. "Keep, or no? I think it's cute."

"Why did he even pack that? Toss it." Cristina motioned to the overflowing trashcan full of the things the twins had worn when they were babies.

Callie shrugged, tossing the onesie aside. "I liked you better with the tumor."

"You mean you liked me better on the antipsychotics," Cristina clarified, flashing a taunting smile. "You can't blame your bad sense of fashion on me."

"Says the woman wearing jogging pants with 'bite me' on the ass."

Cristina smiled. She signed another document, and sealed it carefully in its rightful envelop. "I count twenty-seven. Final estimate?"

"Going high. Forty-two."

"Col, final predictions, buddy," Cristina wiggled the enveloped in front of his nose.

Collin twisted his lips, thinking hard, and announced, "A million!"

"Feel like a winner."

Callie nodded. "I can see that."

Cristina gathered up all of her envelops, counting them while ensuring the addresses were written neatly, they were sealed, and the contents had been sealed inside. She smiled at the last one. "Comes up to a clean forty-four."

Callie bounced, cheering herself on. "And she takes the lead."

"I'll take things we shouldn't be proud of for 1000, Alex." Cristina bopped her on the head with the thick stack of letters, and then set them on the table beside her pile of certificates, doctor's notes, and compliance charts. It was everything she needed to get back to work.

"We went through all of this with Arizona." Callie whistled at the stack, shaking her head. "Except it took us weeks, not _hours_."

"I'm extra motivated."

Callie smiled. It was nice having her there, though she would have usually preferred to be alone while she worked through her own personal crap. Her friends had been taking turns babysitting her over the last few days, as Owen made the transition back to work at Grey-Sloan, and she tried desperately to join him. Noah and Evelyn enjoyed the stream of visitors, as it gave them a steady anchor in Cristina, and Collin could care less either way. He only had eyes for her. Henry was the only one missing from the mix. He was at the hospital, waiting on Arizona to decide when he would be discharged. She had put it off several times already as a precaution.

Cristina marked through the 'paperwork' section on her list, sitting back, satisfied with her progress. Collin climbed into her lap.

"Just wait, I'm gonna rip the carpet out from under Maggie Pierce."

Callie chewed on her pen. "She _is_ the chief's daughter."

"I don't care. I'm the head of cardio. She can kiss my scalpel."

Callie smiled. "I missed that almost psychotic confidence. It's refreshing. It reminds me of your brother. But he doesn't have quite the same… flare."

Cristina thought about correcting her, as she had been doing to everyone who came through here, but she gave up. If they insisted on calling Wyatt her brother, they could. But that didn't make him anything like her. She changed the topic instead. "I thought you were bringing Manny over."

"Physical therapy switched up on us."

"Ahh."

"What about Collin?"

Cristina kissed the nose of the boy in question. "What about him?"

"Have you changed your mind about having the surgery in September?"

"No." Cristina glanced at his leg, which had stiffened a lot since she left last August to travel the world with Teddy Altman. "He needs it. Why, did Arizona say something about it?"

"No, I just figured with all of this going on, you'd want to wait."

"I want life to go back to normal." Cristina said it, and then realized how silly it sounded. She laughed to herself, kissing Collin again, and hugging him. He was happy to oblige, holding onto her silently, like a little baby possum. "Well, as normal as it can be."

She sat halfway across the couch, inviting Noah up when he wandered away from his sister. He sat against her leg, more wanting to be near his brother than her. She was okay with it. She was giving him time to adjust. He had grown so much, and she had missed so much. It was wrong to blame him for it. He had longer hair now, straighter, still as black as oil, with eyes to match. His face was rounder than his sister's, friendlier, and he smiled more. He was a better walker now, preferring to take calm, careful steps and rarely falling.

She was gazing at him when Callie directed her attention to the TV.

"Lots of rain coming in."

"We live in Seattle. Kind of expected."

"Yeah. I wanted to take Manny to the park this weekend but it's all mushy. Stupid rain. Stupid Washington." She pouted. "I'm gonna put him in little swimmers and let him roll around in the puddles, rain be damned."

Cristina smiled, thinking of the child Callie and Arizona had adopted. Emmanuel had been injured in a car accident when he was very young. He was barely a year old now.

It made her think of Henry.

"Do you think… do you think when he gets older, and we tell him what happened… do you think Henry will hate me for doing this to him?"

Callie was quiet for a little while, caught off-guard by the question.

And then her answer came in full force.

"You know, I thought that about Manny. He lost so much, so early. He never stood a chance to be normal. It was already bad when we got to him, but we made some of those decisions – not _that_ he would be cut up, but _how_. And do you know what I've learned since then?"

Cristina shrugged.

"Kids just want someone to love them. Unconditionally. Forever. Henry might never see your face, but he'll know you. He'll know all of us."

"You're so dramatic." Cristina wiped a tear from her eye, and hugged Collin a little tighter.

Callie smiled. "You're welcome."


	120. Progress

**Progress.**

**August 14, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It was that time, the deciding time.

Cristina trailed after the CPS agents, clutching a tiny, sickly baby in both arms, while they decided if this was a fit place for him to live. It was one of the last steps in getting him home, after all of his surgeries and tests, but it was the most important one. It was their decision. Cristina had messed up big time, and these people were here to judge if she should still be allowed to be a mother.

One of them paused in Collin's doorway, and smiled at the mess of toys had left behind that morning. He was there now, looking uncertain at the intrusion.

"My son had a bed like that," the woman commented.

Cristina nodded. "We, uh, got if for him in Switzerland."

Henry gurgled, and started crying again. She shushed him, patting his back gently, trying to soothe his caterwauling for at least the length of this visit, but he wasn't having any of that. He screamed himself red, from room to room. Cristina ended up in the kitchen with him, using a bottle as bribery to get him to stop assaulting the CPS agents' ears.

Meredith offered to take him, but Cristina refused. She was determined to handle this all by herself, like she should have when he was born. Her friend waited with her instead.

When the agents emerged from the hall, one of them was writing on a clipboard. The woman. She nodded, and turned it around, presenting it to Cristina. "I'm approving your custody, for the time being. Don't forget you have a drug test next Tuesday."

Cristina handed Henry to Meredith, signing the paper, a little numb. "Is that it?"

"Yes." The woman smiled. "Good luck."

Hours after their arrival, they left. Cristina took her son back and went into the living room, where Noah and Evelyn had been steadfastly ignoring the visitors and focusing on a little audience of animals Collin had set up for them. She was getting on their friendly side, at least, and the two of them smiled when she walked by them now. But when they got hurt, or were angry, or upset, they held out their arms for anyone but her.

It was progress. It was slow, slow progress.

"It's late." Meredith sat beside her on the couch. "I can take Henry home with me, if you want to get some sleep tonight."

He had been crying nonstop since his arrival that morning, barely sleeping. If she hadn't been a doctor and convinced that he was not actively dying, she would have taken him right back to the hospital. She turned the offer down. "It's his first night home. I need him here."

Meredith nodded. "Okay. Well, I better get going before Derek ties the kids together and calls it a night."

Cristina smiled, "Good idea. I might use that later."

"I'll tell Derek you liked it."

She was alone with the kids for about an hour – all the time she was really ever allotted with them on her own – before Owen got home from work. He barely spoke to her, going through his usual routine. She had forgotten to give Collin a bath, so that was step one. She had been so focused on Henry that the little details escaped her.

He ended up in the living room with her, sitting where Meredith had been on the couch. Collin escaped and crawled onto Cristina, holding on again, like he was so fond of these days, and the twins went on playing, excitedly showing their father what they had done that day, and then forgetting all about him as they got lost in their own world. She gave Henry to him, mesmerized to see the way he held him. He failed to see their differences, the obvious things that made it impossible for Henry to be his son, and looked at him with nothing but love.

She wished he would look at her like that.

"I guess, since he's not at Meredith's, the visit went well," Owen said. His voice was a little gruff. He kissed Henry on the forehead.

Cristina nodded. "It did. She liked the bed Shane got for Collin."

He was silent, acknowledging her words with a nod, but nothing else. Having him home was good. Being at home with him was good. But she had to wonder where all that loved he had professed had gone. Saying something and living with something were two very different monsters.

But it was progress.

It was very slow progress.


	121. Acclimated

**Acclimated.**

**September 2, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"You said when I got back the position would be mine!"

"We made that agreement before all of this happened, Dr. Yang." Webber folded his hands on his desk, and though she had been back to work for a week now, he was still giving her that pitying look. "Besides, you should take some time to get acclimated."

"I got _acclimated_. Now I want my job back."

"It's not happening, Dr. Yang." He motioned to the television mounted overhead. "Do you see this? Big, juicy, tropical storm brushing right on the coast, touching down on an already over stacked water table. I have _that_ to deal with."

"You only want her to stay the head of cardio because she's your love child!"

Webber sat back, astonished she had said that, and Cristina slapped a hand over her mouth.

"You just got back. It would be a shame to _fire_ you so early." Webber stood, opening the door for her. "Get back to work. This conversation is over."

Cristina skittered out, flinching when the door slammed. She could put that on the list of things she was never going to touch again – not with a ten-foot pole. But she was definitely going to get her job back. It was only a matter of time.

Grace, or, rather, Dr. Herman, was waiting for her at the end of the hall. She bounced a little. "Dr. Yang, you told me to tell you if Mr. Sully's vitals showed any signs of-"

"Yeah, yeah." Cristina snatched the chart out of her hands, motioning for her to follow. She scanned over it, and stopped by his room, confirming her suspicions. "Nothing to be concerned about, but I want you to monitor him again tonight."

"_Again_?"

Cristina stopped, giving her a glare. "Is that a problem?"

Dr. Herman stiffened. "Um, no, ma'am."

"You wanted to be on my service, so there you go. We do a lot of watching in cardio. Hearts are fickle. I want you to watch him because I trust that you, and not any of your fellow interns, can differentiate between the dangerous changes, and the normal changes. Can you do that?"

She stuttered, "Yes. I can. I can."

"Okay then. Stop whining."

Cristina left her there, going to join Meredith in the simulation room. It was a popular destination for medical and nursing schools in the area, because their manikins were so technologically savvy. It was as close as they got to trying to save real humans at this stage of their training.

It was also fun to throw in comorbidities, and watch them panic and burn out.

Meredith was making blood spurt from its chest, toying with the dial until one of the students finally thought to put a compress over the bleeding. She smiled at Cristina. "How did your talk with the chief go? Oh, I'm sorry, your 'set him straight' shouting match."

Cristina sat beside her, putting her feet up on the console and triggering a seizure in the dummy on the other side of the glass. "I sort of… pushed a button."

"You said the thing about the love child, didn't you?"

Cristina nodded.

"I told you not to say that!"

"It just came out! You know that's why he wants her there, anyway. I'm way more qualified than she is. If she wasn't his daughter, this wouldn't be an issue."

Meredith turned the seizure off. "You're gonna have to live with being second fiddle."

"I can't. I must rule over my kingdom." Cristina slid down in her chair, until her butt was almost out of it completely. "I'm so sick of monitoring post-op patients and writing in charts. I want to get in there. I wanna cut somebody."

"Damn those laws."

"Damn them all."

Meredith smiled. "If you weren't such a brat to Maggie she might let you observe."

"Take it back."

"Nope. Too late. Already said it."

"I'm not being a brat."

"You sort of are."

"I deserve to be head of cardio!"

"I'm not arguing with you."

"Argue with me. You're all I have left."

Meredith patted her head. "Just think, if the rain gets too intense, we might be able to shirk the red tape. More patients coming in, all that confusion."

"You're downright dastardly."

"I know. Bad idea."

"Good idea."

Meredith folded her hands behind her head and sighed. "I have a bad feeling about this hurricane. Did you see how much bigger it's gotten?"

"Dr. Webber pointed it out. Lots of puddles. So what?"

"I think Derek has a boat in the barn."

"You have a barn?"

"We have a barn."

"Oh. Well, Owen probably has something like that. I never checked. I know his mom does. I can see them both rowing around town. Shouldn't bother me. My house is on a hill."

"So is mine." Meredith smiled. "Have you see your brother – erm, Wyatt?"

"Not today. Why?"

"I have him. He asked me if I wanted to eat lunch with him. I said no. He carried his tray around for 20 minutes and then sat by himself, on the radiator."

Cristina grimaced. "I told you he was a weirdo."

"He's brilliant. He really is. But he's even more socially inept than you. I mean, just getting him to talk to people is a chore."

"Do you think he'll make it?"

Cristina had put a lot of thought into Wyatt since coming back to work. He was an intern, at the same level as Dr. Herman, but he had, thankfully, stayed far away from Cristina's service. He seemed interested in everything, and skilled in everything, with no real focus yet. She got along with him fine, but maybe that was precisely because he was so much like her. It was almost spooky. All those years she'd been denying him, she had the perfect little clone of herself all along.

Meredith nudged her. "I think he will. You should take him one day."

"I have my hands full with Herman."

"God, were we ever that… young?"

"I think we were, Mer. Long time ago."

"Whatever happened to us?"

"We got old, and cranky."

Meredith nodded, and then turned another dial, making the dummy sit up and yowl at the students. Both of them laughed, enjoying the panic that ensued.

Cristina had to add, "I like us like this. I think we came out alright."


	122. Monique

**Monique.**

**September 6, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It had been raining for days.

Cristina had not stepped out of her house once without getting soaked. Everything was a puddle. Every road had pools along the sidewalks. People were rushing to the hospital with drowning victims, after car accidents, and with related conditions like pneumonia and skin breakdown. It was becoming a hub for activity, and the halls were always wet. It started to smell like rainwater. Squeaking shoes became more commonplace than sobbing.

But the dreary weather, coming off of the tropical storm brewing off the coast, could not stop her from pursuing her list. She had been conquering it so far. She had the twins back in her corner, in two months Collin was going to get his leg fixed, she was back at work, recertified, and finally allowed to do surgeries again – albeit only the boring ones – and she only had one thing left.

She had to knock Maggie Pierce off of her throne and take her rightful place as queen.

"Wow, you look really psychotic right now."

Cristina made a face at Alex, sipping her smoothie and fixating on the woman in line to get her food. "She looks so smug. Oh, look at me, my daddy's the chief of surgery, I get to stay in a position I'm not qualified for because he _loves_ me."

"I think you might be taking this a little too far."

She waited, and when Maggie was finally seated, she smiled to herself. "That's right. Take a sip. Just take a big old sip of that sweet revenge."

"Cristina, did you poison her thermos?"

"No. I put soy sauce in it."

He shook his head, appearing to want to take the high road and chastise her, but a laugh escape. "You're ridiculous."

"You can talk. You were never the head of peds. You don't know that kind of power."

"You're starting to worry me."

"Eat me. Oh, look at that! Look at her face!"

Maggie looked up suddenly, and Cristina directed her eyes to the far wall. Alex took a big bite out of his sandwich and looked the other way, fidgeting.

"Is she looking?"

He kicked her under the table. "I don't know. You look."

"No!"

Meredith sat down, startling them both. She laughed. "Okay, you two look like you killed someone and buried them under the floorboards."

"They're tiles, actually, in here." Cristina focused on her, watching Maggie out of the corner of her eye. She was still sipping on that thermos, looking a little disgusted every time it hit her throat. Good. She deserved bitter tea.

Meredith frowned. "You didn't really kill someone, did you?"

"Cristina spiked Maggie's drink."

"You _what_?"

"I put soy sauce in it. Big deal." Cristina laughed, snagging one of Alex's French fries. "She's done much worse to me."

"Did you hear they upgraded it back into a hurricane? I think they named it." Meredith checked her phone, and nodded. "Monique."

"Sounds like a bitch," Alex commented.

"It has a swirl now. It's swirly."

Cristina took another fry, and yelped when he swatted her hand. "Relax. She's gonna blow right by us and slam into Alaska."

"Yeah, and drench us on the way past." Meredith sighed. "Derek put all the life jackets in the living room. He's driving me crazy."

"Why do you have life jackets?"

"He said he would take the kids fishing one day. Never happened. Too many of them."

Alex stretched. "This has been an enlightening lunch, definitely, but I have rounds."

"Swing by the daycare, please," Cristina said.

He nodded, and deposited his tray, walking behind Maggie and making a face as he passed. Cristina laughed.

Meredith frowned at the sudden lack of fries. "Henry is fine, you know."

"I know."

"What you should really be worried about is your brother."

"What did he do this time?"

"He sort of… I think he has a crush on Bailey. She scolded him earlier and he just sort of stared at her." Meredith shivered. "And I have nothing against it if they chose to… mingle… but you know, he's just so tall, and she's so… little."

"And married."

"They're on a break."

"Oh. Can't be worse than my break."

Meredith toyed with her name badge. "Me and you will be here when the storm hits – _if_ the storm hits. I checked. So no trouble there. Hospital won't float away."

"Did you check-?"

"Owen will be at home."

"Good. He can keep the kids away from what I'm pretty sure will be hell if it hits us. If they turn this place into a shelter all the riff-raff show up."

"Good to see you're feeling positive about this."

Cristina laughed. "Community service, that's my motto."


	123. Too Far

**Too Far.**

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Meredith sipped from her crinkly straw, shaking her head at Cristina while she pulled the very last bits of her drink through it, making an obnoxious slurping sound. She had judgement in her eyes. "I cannot believe you. I literally can't. I just can't."

Cristina sulked. "I may have taken it too far. _May_ have."

"I would call that too far. I would definitely call that too far." Meredith took another sip, and set the drink on the table beside her. She slumped into her chair. "I mean… God, did you see her face? I can just feel the guilt dripping off of me, and I didn't even do it!"

"I didn't expect him to be _dead_, Mer."

"Well, maybe you should have checked before you rubbed it in her face."

Cristina covered her face with both arms. "I'm gonna get fired."

"You're gonna get _spit-roasted_ when the chief finds out."

"Leave it to Webber to come in and defend his precious love child."

Meredith twisted her lips, resisting a smile. "You kind of called his granddaughter… a very bad thing. He has tea parties with that kid. I mean, if you really wanted to you could blame it on the medicine. Emotions flaring, missing your old job…"

"No, I couldn't. I stopped taking them."

Meredith reached over and popped her hand. "You _what_?"

"I don't need them. Come on, I'm not crazy. I'm not depressed. I'm not schizophrenic. I don't _need_ the happy pills." Cristina scooted her chair further away.

"You are unbelievable."

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine. I feel great. Better than great. Except for this whole… blasphemy thing."

"Have you spoken to-?"

"What do you think?"

"I was gonna say Owen."

"Oh." Cristina shrugged. "Pills are on the dresser. Pretty sure he noticed when I stopped hopping up and popping one every morning."

Meredith fumed, looking somewhere between wanting to smack her again, and wanting to track her husband down to smack him. She settled way out in left-field, going for sadness, for disappointment. "You said things would be different. You said you wanted to get better."

"Don't start that. I was having such a good day."

"I mean it, Cristina. You said all that stuff about wanting to get better. You're a doctor. You know what it means when patients stop taking their meds."

Cristina sighed, toying with the loose fibers in her chair. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"It's like… a veil. It wraps me up and makes everything all bright and sunshiney, and the whole time it's in my system I'm walking on friggin' rainbows, but, Mer, I can't see. I can't see when I take them. So I stopped."

"And you feel… okay?"

"I feel fine. I feel great. I promise. If I thought I would… I would take them. I would. Trust me. I earned that back, right? Your trust?"

Meredith considered her, shrugging. "Maybe."

"Okay, then. Let's talk about my imminent strangling."

Suddenly the door burst open. Maggie Pierce stepped inside, her arms crossed, and stared down at Cristina with the rage of a cage shark. She was younger, and smaller, and way less scary than a lot of the things Cristina had encountered in her travels, but right now it was a tad bit intimidating.

Cristina sat up. "Look, I-"

"No. Listen. You got to talk already. It's my turn."

Cristina glanced at Meredith, who looked equally apprehensive.

"Dr. Yang, I have shown you nothing but kindness and tried everything I can think of to have a civil, professional relationship with you. I admire your work, I really do. But I got this job on my own merits. It had nothing to do with Dr. Webber being my father, and it has nothing to do with my child or her father. You bringing them up was completely inappropriate. And you insinuating that… you just… You crossed a line. Give up this crusade you have against me, because you and I are going to be working together, and, like it or not, I'm your superior in this hospital. If you continue with this childish behavior you can be _damn_ sure you're not gonna like where this goes."

She left just as quickly as she had come in.

Meredith whistled. "You really stepped in it."

"Gee, thanks, Mer, I hadn't noticed. You're a real help." Cristina sat up, resting her head in her hands. "She's a lot angrier than I thought she would be."

"You insulted her dead ex-fiancé, her kid, and her career."

"Yeah, but she acts like I shot her dog or something!"

Meredith laughed. "That's the detached cynicism I missed so much." She stood up, stretching. "Okay, time to hop back into the hamster wheel."

"I don't wanna."

"Maggie's probably gonna give you some real crap cases, huh?"

"She's exclusively in control of what I get. _Exclusively_. Why did I even come back here? I suck at this." Cristina got up, dragging herself to the door. "I wish that hurricane would hurry up. I need a good drowning."

"Give it a few hours."

They walked down the hall together, across the breezeway between the upper floors, pausing to behold the spectacle beyond the windows. Torrential rain. It never stopped. It never slowed. It poured sideways, surging into the emergency room doors, harassing ambulances, and making life difficult for anyone who preferred to be dry. The hospital was _stuffed_. Down below, the lobby was filling with people taking shelter, people dripping watered-down blood, and emergency personnel trying to get everything organized.

Meredith caught one of the residents rushing down the hall. "Where did all these people come from? I was out here five minutes ago."

He blundered. "Um, uh, outside. Roads are flooded. Seattle got cut in half when the dam broke." He seemed to want to rush off, but he paused, and added, "The police brought in three guys in handcuffs, in the ER. I think they robbed a bank!"

"What dam?" Meredith asked.

"Um, all of them. Monique turned."

Cristina grabbed him. "So, tell me, do any of these bank robbers have chest wounds?"


	124. Hell or High Water

**Hell or High Water**.

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

It looked hopeful until he saw the flashing sign sitting against the trunk of a felled tree.

He stopped the Durango, _again_, and turned around, trying reflexively to turn his windshield wipers up another level. It was pouring. Water rolled over the top of his vehicle, cascaded down the windows, and pounded the doors, making the sound of his children crying a little more eerie. Henry was not having any of this. He wailed like someone had stabbed him, until his pale beige skin was almost white, until his little fists stayed up and trembled in the air. Noah and Evelyn had been thrilled when water rolled into their house, but now they were more apprehensive, sniffling, trying to decide whether they should join their baby brother in absolute hysteria.

Collin was deathly silent. He was overwhelmed by what was happening and he had always handled stress differently than normal children. He was imploding inside. Owen knew it, but he could do nothing to help him. He had to put his focus on driving.

He took a side road, blasting through a tall stream of water and arriving safely at the other side. He was suddenly glad he bought this SUV weighted, because shorter, lighter vehicles would have been taken right off the road by a current like that.

Owen tried one last path toward the city, toward the hospital, which stood on reasonably higher ground and was, traditionally, better at resisting hurricanes than houses. But the road was washed out. Where there had been a strip of black asphalt, there was only muddy river water now. A dam must have broken upstream.

"I left my teddy," Collin whimpered. He had said little else since he got strapped into the passenger's seat, without a car seat for the first time in his life. Owen had no time to get it from the house, where his mother had put it the last time she had picked Collin up for an excursion. He was sliding uncomfortably around in the seat, clutching the seatbelt, fat tears on his cheeks.

Owen turned them around again, reaching over to put his hand flat over Collin's chest. "I know, buddy. We can go get him later. Right now we're gonna go to grandma's house, okay?"

"I want mommy!"

"Mommy is working. She'll be home later."

"I want _mommy_!"

"Col, buddy…"

Cristina was not answering the phone. She was in the middle of her workday, and she had probably found out about the hurricane changing its path in the last hour or so, but he imagined she was swamped. When the hospital became a shelter, it swarmed with new patients. She was safe right where she was and he didn't want to give her a reason to leave.

But he wanted to hear her voice.

His phone rang.

"_Cristina_?"

"No, it's me. Is she not answering? Meredith isn't picking up."

"Derek! Where are you?"

"At home, with the kids, in the living room, which will be a swimming pool soon. Where are you?"

"On the road. On Buckingham. Did you see the news?"

"Yeah. I'm packing the kids up now. Where are you headed? To the hospital?"

"I can't get to the city. I heard something about a dam breaking. This was twenty minutes ago, there's no telling what's happened since I left the house. Water was coming in."

"Looking that way out here. Can you get here? What are you driving?"

"The Durango." Owen stopped, turned, and plotted a new path in his head. "I can be there in five minutes. I talked to my mom, it's not flooding out there. We can take the kids."

He must have said something in response, but the call was dropped.

Owen scanned the screen, noticing the big X on his signal bar. Nothing. It was getting windier. One of the towers must have come down. Or all of the towers, in this kind of weather.

"I left my teddy!" Collin squalled again.

Owen put his hand one the boy, brushing his wild hair back. "We can't go back right now. We're going to Meredith and Derek's house. You're gonna have to-"

The whole vehicle shook.

He had gone through another stream without noticing it. His SUV plowed through it, sliding a little toward the ditch, but the tires touched down and kept them moving. On the other side there was a car flipped up against the trees, and something moving inside.

Owen stopped on the road, threw the SUV in park, and groaned.

He knew he should have kept driving, to pick up Derek, to get everyone out of the flood zone, but by the looks of the roads no one else was going to come help this person. He was completely incapable of leaving that car behind.

"Stay here. Do you hear me? Stay in the car, watch them." Owen locked eyes with Collin, taking his chin. "Daddy is gonna be right back, okay? I need you to be the big brother right now."

Collin nodded dutifully, teary-eyed.

Owen jumped out, staggering when the wind caught his coat. It slammed his door shut, and the kids all started screaming inside. He ran down the embankment and slipped in the slick grass, going down on his bottom by the back of the car. It was showing its belly to the road, its top pinned against the trees. He climbed on the tires to lean into the passenger door.

A woman was curled up at the bottom, holding onto a teenage boy, who seemed trapped in the backseat. Both were unrestrained and shocked, but they appeared unharmed. It looked like their car had gotten caught in the stream of water, and the wind had swept them off the road.

"Can you hear me?" Owen banged on the top of the car, and both looked up at him, startled. He dangled his arm through. "I'm gonna get you both out of there! I need the boy first! Grab my hand and I'll pull you through!"

Owen pulled the teenager out, and then recruited him. Both of them laid on top of the car, balancing against the wind, and hauled his mother through the window. He managed to get them into the trunk, where they sat behind the last row of seats and looked shell-shocked. When he made it to his seat, Collin came across the center console and threw his arms around Owen's neck, giving a strong shiver at coming in contact with his wet clothes.

"It's okay, buddy. Don't tell mommy about that, okay?"

He let Collin stay in his lap, and focused on getting to Derek. It was a short drive, but the storm changed drastically during it. The rain increased, and the wind died down. His visibility went up.

The Shepherd house was a mess. Their yard was covered in debris, with the front still visible, and the back more like a lake. Owen parked on the crest of the hill, leading up to their door, and watched, full of dread, as their van drifted through the backyard.

Derek was at the door, waiting.

Owen pried his son off and planted him on the center console. "I need you to stay here and watch your brothers and sister, okay? I'm gonna go inside but I'm gonna be _right_ back. Stay here."

Collin was coming down from his fearful stoicism. He twisted around and looked at his siblings, assuming the role of leader of the pack. Owen kissed the top of his head.

He recruited the teenager, Ron, and let his mother stay in the trunk to rest. She looked dazed by her ordeal. Owen and Ron splashed through four inches of water in the front yard, up to the door, and Derek held it open for them. He looked doubtfully at the sky.

"I swear I think the world is working against us sometimes."

Owen clasped his shoulder, glad, at the same time, that he was alright, and that the seemed in good spirits, despite his van floating around in his yard and his house about to go for a swim. "Winds have died down. We need to get to my mom's before it picks up again."

"Is her house safe?"

"She has a storm cellar. Former bomb shelter."

"Oh, yeah, the one she converted into a mushroom garden. How did that go, anyway?"

Ron was bouncing at the door. "Can we go now?"

Derek frowned at him. "Who's this guy?"

Owen hauled a bag over his shoulder. "We can talk about it later. Everybody grab a kid."

He ended up with Bailey, who was in the giggling stage of a natural disaster until they walked out into the rain. The poor kid had long, curly blonde hair that got plastered all over his face. Derek came out behind him with both twins, holding them a little too hard against his chest, and Ron came last with Zola, who was silent and stoic like Collin.

It was packed in the Durango.

Zola and Bailey sat together on Henry's right side, in the very back, buckled into the same seatbelt, and Collin was on the other side. Derek held onto his twins, keeping them up front with him, and Noah and Evelyn were still strapped into the middle row, screaming. Ron and his mother had the most room in the trunk.

"Did you call anyone else?" Derek asked, blasting the heat, trying to get his baby girls to stop crying. But their dark hair was soaked and their identical blue eyes were full of tears.

Owen grabbed his phone, ignoring the water droplets dancing down the front. He tried to put another call out but it beeped angrily at him. "No signal."

As he was backing out of the driveway, plowing through standing water, the Shepherd family van drifted into the trees, made the saplings buckle, and then shimmied itself into the river. Derek looked heartbroken, at last. "All my lesson plans are in that van."

Owen was trained to drive in all kinds of environments in the army. One of his jobs was search and rescue, and it was often essential to tackle these kinds of hazards. He evaded, plotted routes, and changed his plans on a dime, reacting to the wind, the rain, the water. It took him forty minutes to get them to his mother's neighborhood, where, at least, the floodwater was not rising. But here the wind was more intense, trees whipping sideways, empty trashcans skittering down the street.

He pulled into a stream of rushing water, parking the car and hoping it stayed put.

He doled out the orders.

"Youngest first. Go straight through the fence, hang a right, and go down into the cellar. Make sure my mom is there before you leave any of the kids. Derek, start with Ellis and Lexie. I'll grab Henry. Hey, hey," Owen snapped, getting the attention of the teen. "Ron, the kids in the middle, pick one, and then come back for the other one."

With the wind, and the rain, and the debris flying up the road, getting the kids into the cellar was hell. It was literal hell. Owen made four trips. Ron nearly wiped out with Evelyn in his arms and had to be caught by Derek, who nearly dropped Ellis in the process. His mother was overwhelmed and terrified, like everyone else. Henry was rapidly destabilizing. He became lethargic the moment he made it into the cellar. Collin kept screaming about his teddy bear. Ron's mother collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. When everyone was finally down, the fight was not over.

"No, no, no, you don't get to do that." Owen yanked Henry out of his carrier and laid him on a blanket, the only dry part of the floor. The baby was soaked, and freezing, and too tiny for all of this to happen to him. He stripped him, wrapped him up, and handed him to his relatively dry mother. "Hold him. Not too tight. He'll be fine once he warms up."

"Owen!"

He turned, joining Derek at the unconscious woman. Derek was checking her pupils. Owen took her pulse, reaching for a stethoscope that was not in his pocket at the moment.

"Pupils are normal. Stress-induced."

"But what if she's dying?" Ron demanded.

"I'm a neurosurgeon," Derek told him, grabbing his hand and pulling him down. "Stay with her. Keep an eye on her."

Minutes passed.

Owen stripped his shirt off, did his best to get dry, and then took Henry from his mother, pacing around the cellar with him. He was medically fragile on a good day, always shifting temperatures, giving Owen a hard time with his blood sugar tests and sleep apnea. Getting drenched was not good for him. It put a strain on his heart, on his brain.

"You and me had a talk about this, remember?" Owen spoke to the baby, wishing, for once, that he would cry instead of stare up with glazed eyes. "Come on. No seizures. No seizures."

Gradually, the infant warmed, and returned to the correct color.

Owen pumped his fist. "No seizures!"

Derek smiled. "Atta boy, Henry."

"Can I…?" His mother came over, smiling at the baby. It had been hectic at home since Henry and Cristina had come back, so her visitation with him was severely lacking.

Owen put Henry gently in her arms. "Keep him warm."

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine."

Collin gratefully took his brother's place, almost clawing his way up Owen. He was the special one, the first one, and though Owen would never admit it, but he held a very special place in his heart. He wrapped his arms around Collin and held on, fluffing out his hair and giving it some hope of drying. He was being quiet again, but so long as someone was holding him, he was alright with whatever happened.

Derek set Zola and Bailey up in the corner, where the slick black wall met the cold concrete floor, and let them play with the Christmas decorations – which, honestly, should have been put back in the attic months ago. Both sets of twins, at the perfect age to shrug their shoulders and forget the outside world, started playing with each other and ignoring the adults. Henry was safe and sound with his mother, getting carted around while she monitored the other kids – she was in grandkid Heaven at the moment and he had no interest in pulling her out. Eventually Ron's mother woke up, a little embarrassed for fainting, but otherwise healthy. Owen took her pulse and let her sit on the steps, away from the screaming children.

When all seemed settled, and not even an hour had passed, Owen went upstairs. He carried his son with him, and Derek followed.

It was quiet in this neighborhood, only sprinkling now, with a few rough winds, making the outrageous waters beyond it seem unreal. Owen and Derek walked up the street, finding roads steadily filling with water all around. He could already see water flowing onto porches, rising up the walls of houses, and he had to wonder what was going on inside. Did they know what was coming? Were they in there, or had they evacuated?

"Well, both of our houses are probably underwater by now." Derek put a hand on his shoulder. He was also looking down the road, at the staggering distance between low ground, and high ground. "And the girls are at the hospital, probably up to their necks in patients."

"We got hit by an arm. Another one is probably on the way. We should get back to the cellar."

"I wonder if they got out." Derek stepped up to the edge of the water, looking up and down the row of houses. "Is it… mostly the elderly in this neighborhood? Disabled people?"

Owen nodded, and offered nonchalantly. "Mom has a raft."

Derek hummed, crossing his arms. "When the storm passes, I can think of a good use for it."

"Come on." Owen stroked his son's hair, and turned back toward his mother's house, grateful they were uphill, and worried for the people less fortunate. He pictured the hurricane in a great spiral, ready to hit them with the next piece as it spun across their state. The last report he had seen had it dying down in the next five hours – but would the stranded people survive that long?

XxX

Cristina tried his number again, in the brief moments she got between patients. Nothing. Dead silence. In the last hour the situation had taken a turn for the worst – or, rather, the hurricane had taken a turn for the worst. Instead of skating harmlessly by Monique decided she wanted to come to Seattle and have a little party.

"It's right on top of us." Meredith skittered to a stop in front of her, dragging her out of the ER. "Monique is sitting on Seattle, but moving fast and weakening."

"How much longer?"

"Four hours, maybe. But nobody knows what happened out there. Nobody knows, Cristina. It just wiped everything out – the cell towers, the dams, I mean, Jesus, my kids are out there!"

"Okay, okay, hey." Cristina grabbed his shoulders, taking some deep breaths and leading Meredith by example. "Knowing our husbands, they're on the roof together, having a tea party or something. It can't be that bad."

Cristina wanted to comfort her, but in her head, it _was_ that bad. It was definitely that bad. She was panicking on the inside. Her babies were out there. She just got them back. "Or, or, or, you know, Derek is in his boat, with his stupid lifejackets. A-A-And Owen's mom has a storm cellar – er, mushroom garden, thing, but it's underground, and safe. They're probably fine, you know, because our houses are on hills, remember? Big old hills."

"But the dams-"

"Yeah, the dams, whatever. They're _fine_."

Dr. Herman popped through the double doors, finding them standing there alone in the hall. She was wild-eyed. "Dr. Yang! I saw-"

"Dr. Herman, you have patients," Cristina snapped.

"I saw him!"

"Saw who?"

"Jose Warez!"

Cristina stiffened. She had not heard that name in a while. "_Where_?"

"He came in with the flood victims. He was in the lobby, but I lost track of him. I-I-I-I remember when he took you. I remember his face!"

Cristina had a moment to recover. Just a moment. She shoved Dr. Herman toward the doors. "Go back to the emergency room and find a police officer. _Go_. Let him know what you saw and the significance of it. And then go back to your patients."

Her intern disappeared.

Meredith was not doing well with calming down. "Okay, well, let's just have a shark swim into the hospital, then. Just a big old shark. Let it gobble everybody up."

"She was probably projecting. Everybody is a little freaked out, Mer."

"I need to check on Mr. Mathers."

"I'll come. Maggie has the ER."

"But-"

Cristina did not want to admit that the man who had almost gotten her killed was back in town, or that he was here, in her hospital, but the possibility of it made her react in a way she hadn't expected. She felt numb. He came from a part of her life that had not been that long ago, but that felt like a dream now. He showed up right after her twins were born, and it seemed, from there, her life had been spiraling downhill.

She was just starting the climb back up to the top.

So she cut off Meredith, feeling protective, and wishing to stay far away from the emergency room. "I have my pager. Maggie can handle it. She's a great surgeon."

"What about-?"

"Jose Warez is _not_ here, Mer. Let's go."

Mr. Mathers was recovering from an exploratory abdominal surgery, which Cristina had been allowed to observe, because Maggie was only giving her predictable surgical cases lately. He was at high risk for complications because of his age and terrible history, so when the hurricane decided to play house, he was moved up to the third floor.

But they didn't make it to his room.

Just a few steps off the elevator, a Latino man with a gun rounded the corner. He leveled his weapon at them, and narrowed his eyes at Cristina. "Hey, you Dr. Yang?" He paused, seeming to read her nametag, and then jerked his gun toward the hall. "Warez wants you. Only you."

She knew she was supposed to be afraid, and she wasn't sure if it was an effect of the medicine, or the therapy, or the hell she had been through in the last few months, but she wasn't. She really wasn't. She was curious. Over a year ago, in the days following what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life – the birth of her twins – Warez took her captive. He wanted her to help his nephew, who had been shot. Owen was in the middle of a PTSD regression and she and Warez had a serious heart-to-heart about their lives, about what they wanted from life and what brought them to that drug hideout in the middle of nowhere.

She had felt a glimmer of a connection with him, and talked openly, because strangers were less threatening to her than the people she loved.

Was this the universe telling her she needed another intervention?

Or was this man determined to be the real end of her?


	125. Don't Cry For Me

**Don't Cry for Me.**

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Jose Warez looked the same as the last time she had seen him – if the man she had met eighteen months ago had been put in a microwave and dusted with white chalk. He was gruff, wrinkled, his eyes dim, his sclera vascularized, his smile reflecting an elderly frailty, and not the health of someone who was middle-aged. He was not much older than her, but he _looked_ like he could be her grandfather. It was a startling change. It challenged that dreamlike memory she had of him.

But it did not extinguish her fire.

She walked straight into the hospital room he had hijacked and popped him on the arm, drumming up the appropriate amount of anger for the very last interaction they had before the FBI rescued her. "You left me to die!"

In the middle of nowhere, his rivals, responding to his vicious attack on one of their leaders, shot up his clubhouse, and set it ablaze. Cristina made it out, only to get left behind, with smoke-filled lungs, by Warez. She came very close to losing her life, to asphyxiating because her body was no longer loading her blood cells with oxygen, and he drove off into the night. She was literally choking to death and he left her there.

Warez flinched, and held up his hand, stopping his friends from advancing. He smiled at her, tranquil. "How have you been?"

Cristina stood straight, glancing around at the goons with guns.

"Oh, yes, I remember. You dislike guns." He waved his hand again. "You can leave. See what you can loot in the area. I will be fine here. Arnold, guard the door."

With hesitant glances, the young men departed. Cristina wondered if they were related to him, or just part of his gang. Surely they cared, to have brought him all the way here, and put him up in this room. He was under the covers and everything, in record time.

His tired eyes came back to her. "Now, how have you been?"

"Pretty shitty. Yourself?"

"Dying."

"Probably of karma."

He chuckled, and then coughed.

Cristina drew a chair up to his bedside, a little shaky on the outside, and cold on the inside. "Did you get shot? Or poisoned? Anvil fall on your head?"

"Prostate cancer."

She nodded, picking up on his condition, and deciding he was in the late stages of his illness. He had probably avoided treatment, to end up looking like this. In eighteen months he had gone from being healthy and thriving, to a sickly old man.

It was astonishing, what cancer could do to the body.

"What do you want with me, then?"

"I want you to help me."

"You didn't come here for my help."

"No, but I saw your name on the wall in the lobby."

Cristina laughed, surprising herself. "Oh, yeah."

"We came here to get out of the storm. I thought, while I'm here…"

"You might as well try to get treatment?"

"Something like that. I missed you. I wondered what happened to you."

"I can't help you."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, I'm not an oncologist. Two, have you looked in the mirror lately? You're _so_ screwed. Three, I don't want to. Four, I hate you."

"I can solve a few of those. I think you do want to, and I don't think you hate me."

"You still have one and two to worry about."

"I have a lot of things to worry about."

Cristina was captured in his gaze for a moment, and she wondered what he had been up to since leaving her that day. It really did seem like a lifetime ago, especially now that she was seeing him like this. Did she look older? Did she look as different as she felt?

"You came without a fuss," Warez noted.

"The hospital is swarming with cops. By now, they know what happened, and they're surrounding this floor and evacuating the patients."

"I don't think that's why. How did things go with your husband?"

"Still technically not my husband." Cristina sat back and put her feet up. "You know, the usual. We made up, moved to Germany, I got a new job, he got a new job, I traveled the world for a while, went crazy, became an addict, had another kid with a hot Egyptian neurosurgeon."

"In such a short time?"

"What can I say? I live life like I mean it."

Warez laughed, and coughed again. "I suppose that is the best way to live life. Were you holding onto that last drop of youth?"

Cristina shrugged, and answered honestly, "I don't know what I was doing."

"You look tired."

"So do you." Cristina slid closer, taking his wrist. She assessed his pulse, and his breathing, and auscultated his chest. His lungs were crackling. His heartbeat was irregular and spontaneous. "God, how long have you been like this? Have you been treated at all?"

"No. I got the diagnosis, and… decided against it."

"You decided-?" Cristina shrugged, dragging a medicine cart over to her. She punched in her code and withdrew a standard IV kit. "You're an idiot."

"What is that for?"

"You're dehydrated. Your pulse is thready."

"You _will_ help me, then?"

"I don't care how much you want to – you're not dying in my hospital."

"I don't want to die."

"Then why are you avoiding treatment?"

"I don't deserve it."

Cristina paused halfway through using an alcohol swab to sanitize his arm. She answered, again, honestly, gruffly. "I agree."

"Aren't you doctors supposed to believe everyone deserves treatment?"

"No. We believe what we want. It doesn't matter what we believe. What we do is what matters." Cristina inserted the IV, and set up a bag of saline, adjusting the trip until she was satisfied. She sat down again.

Warez nodded, and then said, "Who really _wants_ to die, anyway?"

Cristina thought of the last moments she spent with Phyllis, a friend and colleague of hers when she lived in Switzerland. Instead of facing up to the challenges in her life – which were terrible and unfair – she chose to end it. Cristina had been with her when she made that choice.

So she agreed, "Very sick people."

"When you die, there is nothing." Warez glanced up at the IV pole, and then backward through the window, which gave little light through the storm. "Nothing. Not even darkness."

"I thought you were religious. I swear you talked about that last time you kidnapped me."

"What kind of God wants this?"

"A very sick one." Cristina leaned her chair back, and propped her legs on the bed, readjusting her weight to get comfortable. "Ground rules. No philosophical talk. I had enough of that in group therapy. If you want to have a heart-to-heart, it's gonna be nitty-gritty."

He smiled. "Agreed. I have noticed you don't seem to fear anything anymore."

"Did I whimper in the corner last time we met?"

"No, but now it's different. It's not passion, it's… what is that?"

"Exhaustion."

Cristina considered saying nothing else, because that word was very good for summarizing how tired she was, but there was so much more to be said – some things were impossible to say to Meredith, or to Owen. It wasn't because she distrusted them, but because she didn't want them to think she was going over the edge again. She wasn't. She was just _tired_.

"I took on too much, too soon." She admitted it cautiously, and then let the words come out. "When we met… I had just had the twins. We made a huge commitment. I did. I mean, with Collin, my other son, the one I adopted, it was different. There was a lot of buildup to him. And Collin is easy. Collin is so easy. But the twins were suddenly just there one day and Owen was there, and then we were in Germany." Cristina glanced at her company, wondering how much of this he even understood, and deciding she didn't care. "I overestimate myself."

"You look like you are coping well."

"You just said I looked tired."

"I know. But tired is good. Tired is not dead. Look at me. _I'm_ exhausted. I feel the vitality just drip right out of my skin. When Donnie died, I lost my will. I lost everything inside."

His nephew, the boy he had carted to the United States and raised as his own, was the reason the two of them had met in the first place. Donnie was shot. Warez kidnapped Cristina to save his life, and when he realized that Donnie was going to die anyway, he pleaded for just one last conversation with him, just to hear his voice again. His pain had resonated in her for a long time, and it was an experience she was never going to forget.

He had imprinted on her a real sense of grief, a real understanding of the lengths a parent is willing to go to protect their baby.

And she realized that he was punishing himself.

"Is that why you're refusing treatment?"

"I don't deserve it, after what I did to him."

"You didn't shoot him." Cristina held herself back. She could have gone on and pointed out that he was the _reason_ Donnie was shot, but what good would it do?

"When he was gone, I thought, what's the point of me?"

Cristina folded her arms, and watched a spec of blood move down from the insertion point of the IV, onto his forearm. Outside the storm was raging, but it did little to shake the hospital. His words got her thinking, and she wondered if there were certain things that people just never came back from – the loss of a child, pulling the trigger on a purse snatcher.

Warez took a deep breath, the first one not interrupted by a cough, and gazed at her. His voice was raspy. "You look haunted, Dr. Yang."

She glanced at him, "I am. I am haunted."


	126. Don't Cry for Me, Part II

**Don't Cry for Me, Part II**.

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina ran her fingers along the underside of Warez's leg, trying to find his popliteal pulse. It was present, and thready. Further down, where his ankle met his metatarsals, his posterior tibial pulse was barely present. Even his pedal pulse was weak. His entire body was suffering because of his abnormal heartbeat. Blood was backing up into the valves of his heart. Each stroke gave less than half of what it should have, and as they sat there together, it grew weaker and weaker. She had him on a constant oxygen saturation monitor, and as the minutes passed, the number shrunk. It should have been in the nineties, but it was sinking into the high eighties.

With these readings, anyone could have walked into that room and decided this man was not going to survive. When cancer patients reached a certain point, when their tumors were allowed to grow uninhibited and metastasize throughout their bodies, when vital vessels and organs were starved, there was no turning back. His heart was already stiff and deformed. His vessels were already narrow and hard. He was giving up.

She said she wouldn't let him die in her hospital, but after completing her assessment, she realized there was only a slim chance he was going to live through this storm. But he told her something that brought that slim chance down into no chance.

"I mixed it in with syrup, to mask the taste."

He was talking about anti-freeze. He had the crumpled label in his pocket. He pulled it out and pressed it into her hand, his expression very serious.

Cristina stood up, prepared to leave the room and find something to pump his stomach with, but Warez grabbed her hand. He had this look in his eyes – a look she had seen before. He was choosing to let go. For the terminally ill, it was one of the most relieving decisions to make. It was the only way to take power back, to make their own choice, when their bodies were under attack.

"I came here so they would have my body, to ship me back home." He kept her hand, even as she returned to her seat, and tossed the label in the trash. His fingers were cold. His eyes were a little dreamy. "I haven't been home in so long."

"How long has it been since you drunk it?"

He glanced at the clock. "Six hours."

"Your kidneys are failing. No wonder your vitals are dropping." Cristina kept her voice low, quiet, and even, surprising herself with her own words. "You're dying."

"I know."

"Why would you…?" Who was she kidding? She knew why. She knew how. She knew the answers to all the questions people felt compelled to ask in a situation like this. He had lost everything that mattered to him. He was dying of a very aggressive type of cancer, and he had probably been in pain since the moment they parted.

He smiled a little at her half-question, and squeezed her hand. "I didn't think I would see you here, though. That was an accident. A happy one."

"Because I just love watching people die," Cristina murmured, a little shell-shocked.

His smile faded. "Think of it as a release, not a death."

"Maybe it's more than you deserve, for all the people you killed. For Donnie. For that kid you crushed in the café." Cristina let go of his hand, tapping the saline bag, and then shutting the machine down. It was useless, with anti-freeze in his system.

"It might be, but it's too late now."

He was quiet for a few minutes, letting his eyes slide shut, and just breathing. Cristina sat back in her chair and watched him, placing him safely at the top of the list of the worst things she had seen in her life. He was inflicting this on her, as one last sting before he died. She got to see him go. She suffocated Donnie when they were in that building, when the fire was crawling into the room and she wanted to spare him from burning to death. She put a pillow over his face until he stopped struggling. Was this her payback? Was this her punishment? Was this punishment for everything she had done since that moment?

She deserved it. She had failed everyone this past year. She failed her kids. She failed Owen. Her career was still teetering on the fence. She felt uncertain and very unlike herself. She had nightmares, and a constant hunger inside for the addictions she had left behind.

Warez was here punishing her for that, and punishing himself for getting Donnie shot. It was a pity-party fit for two.

Eventually he woke up, and his tone was husky.

"I don't want to die."

Cristina would have said something sassy about not drinking the Kool-Aid, but she had heard those words too much to make light of them. She was a doctor, a surgeon. When people rolled into her OR, this was what ran through their minds.

"Neither do I."

He opened his eyes, now glassy, and frowned at her. He sounded vulnerable. "What do you think happens after we are gone? What do you really believe, Dr. Yang?"

"Blackness. Nothingness."

"Would you still believe that if you faced death?"

"I have faced death, and yes, I do still believe that. Chemical reactions. Star dust. It's all we are, all we'll ever be. But that's not an important question. It doesn't matter where we go. It matters what we do, what we leave behind. Our legacy." She folded her arms, feeling a glimmer of pain at the topic. "But I screwed mine up."

"You have beautiful children, and a man who loves you. That is your legacy. _They_ are your greatness."

"I told you not to get philosophical."

He smiled. "I apologize."

She would have said something.

It might have been lighthearted, since Warez had that smile on his face. It might have been sassy, because she sensed his moment of doom and gloom had ended.

But she never got that far.

His oxygen saturation shot down, his pulse became rapid and erratic, and he let out a bloodcurdling groan that overwhelmed every other sound in the room.

It was happening. He was dying.

XxX

Alex tossed a towel across the side door threshold, where his braindead interns kept slipping. He had seen the latest prediction giving them two more hours of hell before the hurricane was out of range. Beyond the door, the wind was whipping, dragging trashcans across the parking lot and throwing little funnels of paper into the air – it was dark, and eerie, like the end of days, Seattle Edition. He was suddenly glad he had advocated for Jo to come in to get caught up on her charts, in case something happened at the house and stranded her and her big belly.

He rounded the corner into the emergency room, ready to recruit Meredith to help him deal with an impaled seven-year-old, but he found them all panicked.

There was a massive biker holding a chair over his head, waving it at everyone, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, his veins popping out of his arms. He was high on something – a hallucinogenic, considering the foam at the edges of his mouth.

Meredith was trying to calm him with both arms, but she was getting nowhere.

One of the interns scrambled to his side – Cole Hatcher – and whispered, "All the police and security guards are upstairs."

"What? Why?"

"I heard it was a hostage situation."

They flinched when the man turned toward them, but he turned away.

Alex opened a drawer behind him, punching his code into the narcotics dispenser and filling a syringe with hydromorphone. One of the paramedics saw what he was doing and edged over, holding out his hand. He murmured, "Seen this before. Give it to me."

He handed the syringe over, and mouthed to Meredith to keep the patient distracted.

She got his attention. "Sir, sir. I want to help you. Just tell me what you need."

He stared at her, puffing air through his flared nostrils, "Get out of here!"

She took a step back, "Just relax. We can leave. Is that what you want? Do you want us to leave?"

The paramedic crept closer, uncapping the needle. He stuck the guy in the arm and pulled the plunger in one motion. When he felt it, the man whipped around, knocking the paramedic away. Alex caught him before he hit the ground, and they scrambled backward. The patient chucked his chair at them, but it went over their heads and struck a light fixture, clambering down harmlessly in the middle of the floor. The patient tried to come for them, but the drug started taking effect. He hit one knee, and then collapsed completely. The paramedic rushed to him.

Alex followed, satisfied that the guy knew what he was doing. He established an airway and prepared narcan to reverse the effects of the opioid.

Meredith came over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Alex patted the paramedic on the shoulder, whistling. "Damn, dude. Props."

"I served two tours – this guy is easy." The paramedic smiled. "We brought him in, anyway. Might as well deal with him."

"Hang around. Hurricanes bring in all the crazies."

"True." The man helped get the patient onto a gurney, and then motioned upward. "Heard you guys had your own craziness going on."

"What does that mean?"

Meredith beckoned Alex. "I know what it means. Come here."

His friend looked very serious, and he got a bad feeling from her tone.

"Something happened earlier… they told me to keep it to myself, but…"

"Mer, what's going on?"

"Jose Warez is in the hospital. He took Cristina."

His heart pounded in his throat. "What? _Where_?" Guiltily, he worried about Cristina second, and about his pregnant wife first.

Meredith pulled him into the hall. "Third floor. We were-"

A door burst open at the end of the hall.

A man ran in, mid-forties, completely soaked, his hair slicked down, trembling from head-to-toe, with a tiny pink sweater clutched in one hand.

"She's in the car!" he shouted, hitting his knees, and then falling forward to his hands.

Alex ran to him.

Meredith hit the ground beside him, touching his skin and withdrawing. "He's freezing. Who is in the car? Your baby? Is there a baby out there?"

Alex went to the door, staring out into the darkness. He saw a pair of headlights surrounded by rushing water. His heart raced. If there was a baby in that car, it didn't stand a chance.

"She's in the car!" the man screeched again, thrusting the pink sweater into the air.

Cole said the security team and the cops were upstairs. There was no time.

He shouted at Meredith, "Get that paramedic! Go now!"

And he started running through the flooding parking lot.

XxX

It was getting quiet out. Owen could tell the storm had not yet passed, and it would have been safer to wait the last two hours out in the safety of the bunker, but homes were flooding all around them, and there were people in trouble. He could not wait.

He and Derek dragged the boat down the street, wading into the floodwaters and then hopping in. It took them a moment to get their oar-strokes in line, and then barely sixty seconds to map out their route. Owen had his priorities in line. He knew some of the neighbors, knew where the direst situations would probably be. He knew how much difference swift action could make, and how quickly situations could turn from dangerous, to deadly.

It was calm in the neighborhood. Wind whipped the trees and challenged them to keep the boat going relatively straight, but the rain had stopped, and it was brighter out. Owen set up a battery-powered lantern on the front of the boat, so they were visible from down the block.

"Pettigrew," Owen said, pointing out the first house. It was far enough underwater that the door was halfway submerged. But it had a second story.

He stood up on the edge of the boat, and got a boost from Derek, to get onto the roof.

From there, he could see the whole neighborhood. His mother's street and the ones further north were the most elevated, safe from the flood, but from this house, to the south, the water got deeper and deeper. If there were people in those houses, it was already too late.

He tapped on the upstairs window, and got a few startled squeals in response.

An old man opened it up, looking thoroughly confused. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"I came here on a boat. We can take you to dry land." Owen looked inside, and found three little girls standing beside an old woman. It looked like their weekend with their grandparents had gone terribly sideways. "There are kids there."

The old man glanced back, and then looked out, gauging the height of the flood.

Owen intervened before he could dismiss the rescue. "On the next street over, the houses are fully submerged, and the water is still rising. It's best to get out while you can."

The man agreed, perhaps exclusively because of the scared kids behind him. He walked out onto the roof and looked down at the boat, doubtful, and then got a ladder down from the attic. Derek mounted the boat to their front porch and he climbed down first. The old woman handed Owen the first girl, maybe four years old, and he took special care bringing her down. He laid down on his belly on the roof, took her under the arms, and lowered her to her grandfather. He caught her in both arms and passed her to Derek, who instructed her to sit down in the back of the boat. It went on like that for the other two, and then for the old woman, who took the unsteady ladder instead.

It became a pattern. Owen and Derek took them back down the street, and let them off where the water got too shallow, and then reentered the neighborhood. He was right about the water. It was rising steadily. By the time they got three more families out, it was at the top of the door on that first house. Eventually they relocated the kids and his mother to a neighbor three streets north.

One of them had a little radio, and it picked up emergency frequencies. While they worked, they listened for news from the hospital.

Owen heard nothing, and kept his hopes high.


	127. Don't Cry for Me, Part III

**Don't Cry for Me, Part III**

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Years ago, Cristina was naïve enough to think that with the right effort, with the right determination, people could do anything. Her father had impressed that idea on her so much that it stuck, even through cynicism, even through high school and college and medical training – even through living with her insufferable mother. It clung to her, sometimes diminished so much that the drive almost left her, and sometimes so strong that she accomplished incredible things. She liked to think it was his influence that got her here, instead of her stubbornness, her inability to let things go. It had to be noble, like that, or it didn't mean anything.

She refused to give up on the little things, on the impossible patients. She did it with Holly Vaughn. She did it with Phyllis Danforth. She did it with Collin, and for once, she succeeded.

But was it different this time?

She leaned over Jose Warez, compressing his chest, delivering oxygen, trying her damndest to restart his weak heart. He was full of poison, full of tumors, with failing kidneys and atrophying organs, but she refused to let go.

"Come on," she said to herself, panting at the effort of CPR. Her wrists ached. "Come _on_. We're not done yet. You don't get to die."

Finally, Warez came back.

He gasped, and the color returned to his face. His pulse jumped and hammered erratically. He stared at her the way one does when coming out of cold water, as oxygen saturated his brain.

Cristina cupped his face, "Easy, easy. Breathe."

He took a deep, stuttering breath, and gasped again.

Cristina released him, sinking into her chair, trying to ease her own racing heart. She put her hand on his, feeling that very basic human empathy despite every attempt to squash it.

Maybe it was just stubbornness that made her do it. He would have been better off if she let him go. She was prolonging the pain, the suffering, because letting go was too hard. It was impossible. She was going to do everything she could, futile or not, to keep him alive.

XxX

He hit the water, and the water hit back.

It was freezing. His lower body locked up and the cold rolled through his muscles, giving him a nasty shock that, very briefly, lost the drive to breathe. His throat closed and his heart stuttered. Bubbles shot out around his legs from the sinking car, giving him a stimulus to grasp for. His mind went straight back to the overturned ferry, to the early years of his surgical life when he saved a pregnant woman from drowning, and helped to rebuild her face. He had hated water ever since. It did terrible things to the body. It was the great destroyer of men.

But he was too stubborn to let this go, and the situation was too urgent to wait for backup.

Alex took a deep breath, and dove into the car.

It became like a dream.

He drifted through dark water, bumping into the objects that made up a family's life. A diaper bag. An old sweater. Newspapers and magazines, turned to mush now. Old fast food cups. He ran his hands over them, carefully picking out the sensations, identifying things that were irrelevant and pushing them behind him. He spread his arms, touching the backs of seats, the floorboards, the roof, and the car seat still strapped in. Nothing.

He had to come up before his search was complete. He pushed off the seats, and someone grabbed his leg and steered him to the shallow water.

It was the paramedic, in his fluorescent uniform, with Sean sparkling on his nametag. He got two arms around Alex and hauled him to his feet steadying him, shouting, "Count off two minutes, and then get worried!" and then diving into the car.

Alex started counting, his eyes on the black water.

"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven…"

Nothing. It was quiet. Occasionally a bubble came to the surface.

"Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty…"

Sean emerged, gasping, and shook his hair out, spreading water droplets all over. He took a few deep breaths, and then went back under.

Alex started counting again.

"Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…"

He came up in the mid-twenties, thrusting a lifeless baby to the surface. It floated there for a split second like a little toy, as pale as the moon, slick and unmoving.

Alex grabbed it in one arm, and got Sean with the other, and they waded out together. Once his feet hit dry land, the race started. Alex forced his numb legs across the parking lot, to where Meredith was throwing the door open. She had the distraught father with her, and when he saw the baby, his eyes lit up – and then they darkened again when he got a real look at her.

He was inside in a matter of seconds, rushing past the sobbing man in the hallway and reentering the emergency room. He shouted at Cole as his intern rushed to his side, "Get me Robbins! _Now_!"

It was like the Red Sea was parting as he made his way through the emergency room. When the other doctors and patients saw that he was soaking wet, and that he had this hopeless little lump in his arms, they skittered out of the way, and stared, a familiar sadness in all of them.

There were no free beds, so he swept the supplies from a table and laid the baby down. Cole reappeared and Meredith came up behind him. Sean, panting, came in last, leaning over his knees, his chest so cold that he was still making steam with every exhalation.

His patient was small, maybe five months old, pale, with veins showing through her thighs. Her skin was like paper, almost fetal in appearance, and her lips, gums, fingertips, and eyes were cyanotic. She was frigid to the touch, but when he cut through her onesie, he noted some splashes of color in her chest and abdomen. Blood, still flowing. She still had a chance.

Meredith started CPR while Alex hooked the suction tube up. She was too little to reliably trigger a gag reflex in, and while she was unconscious she would probably just aspirate again, so he had to suction the water from her lungs. He wound it around an infant cannula and worked on an artificial airway, a tube to push it through. Her throat was small and closed.

He spent precious seconds standing at her head, trying to get that airway open.

Robbins stormed through the curtain, taking in the scene with wild eyes. She came to Alex, "Where do you want me?"

He handed the airway over. "Get this started! Mer, do not stop. Cole, get the hypothermia blankets ready and get the crash cart." He waited, anxious, as his mentor maneuvered the airway. The moment it was open, he fed his suction tube and cannula through it to access the lungs.

One pass at a time, he suctioned water into the holding tank, and delivered humidified oxygen straight to her lungs. Meredith paused for each one, and worked between them, watching his every twitch to see when she could compress, and when she should stop.

When he came up with nothing, Alex switched sides, and Cole came back. He set up a nest for the baby, and the four of them lifted her to nestle her into it. She had to be warmed slowly, with compressions, to give her body a chance to catch up to the change in temperature. Alex had rarely seen an infant survive this stage of hypothermia, and drowning, but then again, it took much longer to get help to them. She had been right outside the hospital.

Alex was standing there for a long time. His legs began to ache. His clothes dried to his body and made him shiver. Someone threw a blanket over his shoulders. He switched places with Robbins every thirty seconds, delivering oxygen, suctioning, and compressing, monitoring the baby's pulse and oxygen saturation, and making a hundred decisions a minute regarding what he would do next. Every second counted. Misuse of time meant cell death.

He thought he was dreaming when the baby opened her lips around the artificial airway.

His spirit lit up.

"Conscious!" Alex slid the airway out, and the baby started to cry. Her voice was hoarse and pitiful, but her lips regained their color, like magic, and her face flushed red as the blood returned. Her vitals elevated and her temperature began to rise. She thrust her arms and legs around weakly.

Robbins put her arms around Alex, squeezing him, "I'm so proud of you."

Alex laughed, not sure what else to do with himself. "Holy crap." He took a few deep breaths, stepping away, and then stepping back up to the table. He surveyed her vitals, fascinated and grateful for the change, and then bundled her up in the blanket and drew her into his arms. He took the first seat he found and held her vertically, giving her back gentle pats, encouraging a wet cough that helped expel the last of the water from the base of her lungs. "Holy crap, kid."

Cole hovered, sliding a duffel to him. "I got your bag. You need to get out of those clothes."

Alex changed, and gave Sean his extra backup set of scrubs, but came right back to the baby. He put her in her father's arms and sat beside them, keeping watch on her vitals and her skin, smiling despite the gauntlet she had just put him through.

Meredith crouched beside him, glancing at one of the silent TVs on the far wall. "One more hour."

He looked toward the stairwell, "What about Cristina?"

"I tried. They won't let me near her." Meredith stood up, and wrapped her arms around him, shaking her head against his shoulder. "You are amazing."

"I just did my job."

"You just brought that baby back from the edge." Meredith held on for a moment longer, and then sighed, "If he hurts her…"

"Cristina is a tough son of a bitch." Alex got up, finally, and shook the cold away. He clasped the lucky father on the shoulder, nodding, and then turned the baby's care over to Cole. He was an intern, but he was sharp, and if anything changed he would be the best person to help. But Alex doubted the baby would crash. She was resilient, too.

He walked slowly across the emergency room floor, sneakers squeaking, and caught the eye of his favorite person. She frowned at the site of him.

Jo folded her arms around him, stroking one hand down his hair, and whispering, "You amaze me every day."

He smiled, never failing amusement at the way she turned to keep her belly from interfering with their hugs. He said the first thing that popped up, the only explanation he could manage for the tenacious rescue of that baby. "I kept thinking about ours – what if she was ours?" He rested his hand on her stomach, knuckles down.

Jo kissed his cheek, giving him that warm, glowing smile that disarmed him every morning. "Make sure you get some rest in all this. We have a long night ahead."

"I have a long night. You have a lot of charts to get caught up on."

"We're not having this argument right now." She released him, and pushed through the door. "Don't worry. I'm just monitoring patients for everyone down here. Nothing too exciting."

"Just stay away from the third floor, okay?"

"Why?"

"Little… situation. Police are handling it. Don't worry."

He sent her off with those words, but he was worried. Now that the little girl was alive, he had time to worry. His eyes came back to the stairwell over and over again and he wondered if they were even trying to get his friend out of danger. He didn't have many friends. Cristina was special to him. He needed her in his life.

He saw similar concern in Meredith, and they took turns hovering and harassing any security guards they saw for an update on the situation upstairs. But the hospital was busy, and he was pulled away to deal with the newcomers.

Jo was right. It was going to be a long night.


	128. Don't Cry for Me, Part IV

**Don't Cry for Me, Part IV**

**September 8, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

"I have made a lot of mistakes…"

Sometimes Cristina wished she had not chosen to become a doctor. In the fleeting moments where it seemed too challenging, too draining, to do this kind of job, she wondered what her life might have been like if she chose something else. She might be less damaged, less jaded, with less baggage, and fewer nightmares to keep her up. She might be happier.

"… killed a lot of people, ruined a lot of lives."

But when the options were laid out in front of her and she had a moment to think – to _really_ think – about the choices she had made, she wouldn't change anything.

"Donnie was the worst. He is the black stain on my life…"

While she sat there, listening to this sick, dying man, she realized life was nothing without choices, and if every choice came out peachy, there would be no point to it all. She couldn't regret meeting Phyllis, because she loved Collin so much. She couldn't regret going to medical school and starting her internship at this hospital, because Meredith and Alex meant the world to her. She couldn't regret those precious first moments with Owen, because now, at the end of this man's life, she saw the beginning of hers. A new beginning, a better one.

"If I could just save him, just get that one redemption, I would be spared in the end."

It was all a pot of bargaining. Some people won, some lost. She had come out with a crappy hand lately and it was her fault, entirely, but she was not _there_ yet. She was not where Warez was. He was in the final moments, teetering on the edge of nothing, and she was _alive_.

"You and I have come full circle."

It seemed so simple now, just looking at him. Only hours ago it seemed like her options had run out, and over the last few months, maybe years, she had been floating through life with just enough pain to cancel out the pleasure – but it wasn't over yet.

"You get to walk away this time, healthy and alive, and I get left behind."

Cristina finally looked at him, finally met his eyes, and was overwhelmed with empathy. She hardly knew him. All their time together could not fill two days. But there was something about him that made her feel connected. Maybe he was a kindred spirit. Maybe it was Stockholm's. Either way, she felt that they were tethered, and they had been since they met.

He put his hand over hers and whispered, "I lost my purpose. But you still have yours."

She put her hand over his, and waited. Watching someone die was not pleasant. Death was dirty. It was the final release of the body, the cancelling of the organs, the total shutdown of a complex human mind. But he shut his eyes first, and took a few deep breaths, welcoming it, and Cristina watched his stats drops. His heartrate triggered the alarm, so she pulled the plug on the machine, and let him go in peace. Nothing would have saved him, not so long after being poisoned.

"You told me once I reminded you of your wife." Cristina folded his fingers carefully, laying his arm at his side. "I hope there is something after, so you can see her again, and Donnie. I know it seems… weird, but I'm glad I knew you. Even though you kidnapped me. Twice."

She drew the covers up over his face, lowered the head of the bed, and stepped back. She had a lump in her throat, and a tear in her eye.

"Goodbye, Warez. Good luck."

Cristina knocked on the door, and when his lackey poked his head in, she motioned to the body on the bed. He frowned at it, but did not seem surprised. He must have told him his plans. The man stepped out of her way, and dropped his gun on the floor, folding his hands behind his head and walking down the hallway.

A police officer came out, pointing a gun at him, and demanded he lay face down.

Cristina looked back at the body again, one last time, before she went to the officers. It felt like walking away from a chapter in her life. Jose Warez was gone, but she was still here.

She was still here, and she was going to do better this time.


	129. Don't Cry for Me, Part V

**Don't Cry for Me, Part V**

**September 8, 2018**

**Seattle, Washington**

It was finally over.

Cristina sat in the upstairs lobby, watching the clouds roll over the moon, a blanket tucked around her shoulders and a weird sense of clarity in her head.

It was almost midnight and the hospital was crowded with refugees from the storm. It was loud and busy and slippery, and they had already gotten the news about their families, about their friends. Everyone was fine. Some people had died, but not _their_ people. Jose Warez was among the casualties, but it was not the hurricane that killed him – it was his own hand. It had happened less than an hour ago and she was still working through how she felt about it.

But it felt like it was finally over.

Meredith was beside her, an arm around her shoulder, staring out the window through the fog of exhaustion. She had been on her feet all night. She and Alex had saved the life of a baby girl while Cristina was having her last conversation with Warez, and she looked appropriately drained.

Somehow, she found the words.

"Do you think if I swam…?"

"I think you would probably drown."

Meredith gave her a sideways smile. "Pessimist."

"I call it like I see it."

Her friend shifted, and tilted her head, settling into a thoughtful expression. "Are you okay?"

"No."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing to say." Cristina stretched, considering getting up and taking a lap around the floor, but deciding against it. "He died. He killed himself."

"What did you talk about?"

"Stuff."

"Okay. You don't have to tell me."

Cristina looked over, and saw that 'you should definitely tell me' look on Meredith's face. She sighed, but smiled. Meredith was irritating sometimes, but she loved her anyway. "It was just about… our lives, how pathetic we are, how many things we did wrong, that kind of stuff. End of your life stuff."

"You're not pathetic."

"I know that." Cristina wished she could describe their conversation, short as it was, and how much it meant to her, but it was one of those moments people had to feel for themselves.

"It's okay to cry."

"I'm not gonna cry for him." Cristina was resolved on that issue, even though she had let a few tears slip in that room. "He was done with life. Over it. And I still have things to do."

"Like bury me, when my kids join forces to murder me."

"Exactly."

Both of their shifts were over, and aside from the occasional call, they became refugees in their own hospital. Cristina slept for a while, and had vivid dreams about her first experience with Warez, and got in a few crackly phone calls with Owen before the signal cut out. Gradually, the night passed, and the hurricane teetered away, leaving the hospital in one piece. She and Meredith stayed together in an on-call room, talking about nothing, and laughing to shake the night off.

When dawn came, they got the all-clear to leave.

Cristina walked out beside her friend, stretching like she had been shut up in a box all night, and beheld the damage the hurricane had done outside. The standing water had moved on, spilling from the sloped streets to the lowest parts of the city, and it left branches and leaves all over the road. The sun came up strong, in a cloudless sky, and a familiar SUV was pulling into the lot.

Owen was out first. He went to the back seat and unleashed a little monster that streaked across the parking lot to her. Cristina bent down to scoop him up.

Holding her son made her feel so much better about everything.

Owen wrapped his arms around her next, lifting them both into the air and giving her a little twirl. She was captured, briefly, in those pretty blue eyes, that adoring smile.

"He hates it when you're gone," Owen said, patting Collin on the back. He kissed Cristina on the lips, and then the cheek, whispering, "So do I."

He let her go, and the men began telling them a story on the way back to the car. Instead of sitting at home and staying safe, they stepped up to help the neighbors, rowing around in their little boat and getting stranded people out of houses. When the topic came back to what had happened in the hospital, Meredith told them about the drowned baby, and then hesitated.

Cristina glanced at her, and decided to keep it to herself. "It was pretty boring, for a hurricane."

Meredith nodded, "Yeah, we got cheated."

"Maybe next natural disaster," Derek said, kissing his wife.

Cristina got in the back with Collin, holding him in her lap. It was a long drive back to Owen's mother's house, and he and Derek babbled the whole while about the state of their homes, the people they had saved, and the damage being reported all over the state. Cristina let her mind wander, running her hands aimlessly through Collin's impossibly curly hair.

She lingered on the hospital, and hoped they would send Warez's body back home, like he wanted. She was actually glad he had come to Grey-Sloan, because those last words they shared gave her a new perspective. A new beginning. Maybe she wasn't going to be a whole new person, but she wasn't going to live halfway anymore. She was going to throw her whole self into her work, into her family. She was going to be a great mom, a better wife, and an excellent surgeon.

Everything was going to be better from now on.


	130. I Love You

**I Love You.**

**December 20, 2018.**

**Seattle, Washington.**

Cristina folded a little pink onesie with a bunny tail into its box, and sighed. It was the last part of her present, the last piece of her gift to one of her best friends in the whole world, and it seemed to be lacking something. Or maybe _she_ was lacking something.

Her supervisor groaned, strolling back into the room with their youngest son in his arms. "Do you have to look at all of them like that? It's really bumming me out."

Cristina smiled. Seeing him with Henry brightened her day, every day. "It's not the present, I just… I never saw her in this. I was gone, right? Or working?"

"No, if you remember correctly, that was _my_ absentee stage."

She stretched her arms out behind her as he walked by, thrumming her fingers over his stomach. "Oh, yeah. Maybe she never wore it. What a waste."

"We could put her in it now."

"Right. I can't even get her to wear pajamas."

Owen leaned over the back of the couch, pressing a series of kisses down her neck, to her shoulder, and smiling against her skin. "I want you to think back. We have a special anniversary today."

"We do…?"

"Ten years ago, I saw you were having a bad day, so I took you down to the vent."

Cristina could not resist a grin. She tilted her head, and let his lips skate over her ear. "I was having a fight with Meredith, I think. You said anything could happen. I kissed you."

"Mhm."

Cristina hopped up, tying a quick ribbon around her box and setting it on the back of the couch. She took the baby from him, "I'll take that, and you take the present to the car."

Owen adjusted the ribbon, and smiled at the box. "Evie was teeny."

"So is Sara."

Cristina was proud of her family, even when half of them were screaming. Her twins were bordering on two, embodying the moodiness and irrationality that made kids so charming at that age. Her five-month-old was silent and thoughtful, always listening, and her four-year-old was the same way. Collin sat in her lap up front after a major meltdown in the back, Henry kicked his feet and cooed when the music changed, and Noah and Evelyn caterwauled all the way there.

Over the years their parties had gotten bigger.

What started as a few family gatherings with unwilling, antisocial interns, came to encompass everyone. Invitations went out to their coworkers, their friends, their mentors. Owen parked among dozens of cars, and the twins stopped screaming at the sight of a big orange bouncy house and plenty of other kids to harass. "Happy Birthday Zola!" was written in big yellow letters on a banner hanging over the entryway, and the massive lawn was fenced it.

It was basically a free-for-all.

When Cristina opened her door, Collin shrunk closer to her. She put her hand over his ear. He was sensitive to crowds, intolerant of loud noises, and grumpy because his legs were in braces. His surgery was two months ago and his legs still weren't strong enough to keep him up on their own.

"If you never put him down-" Owen began.

Cristina shushed him, "Not today. Please."

Owen twisted his lips, and shrugged. "Should I just unleash the demons?"

"Go for it. Steer them into the gate."

Cristina waited by the front of the car, holding Collin in both arms. He peeked at the party over her shoulder, looking uncertain.

She kissed his cheek, "You can stay with me if you want, okay?"

Owen unleashed the beasts, and corralled them through the gate. He left Henry in his car seat, asleep, and despite all that responsibility, he still managed to give Cristina a judgmental look.

She sighed. "What?"

"You should encourage him to play with the other kids."

"He doesn't want to."

"You're babying him."

"Remember last time I let you try your tough love method? He shut down for days."

Owen frowned, glancing at the party, and then looking at the little blonde who could not be less interested. "You need to reconsider getting him tested."

Cristina shut that idea down. "Kids can be shy, Owen. Fact of life."

"Cristina-"

"Come on. I can take Henry. Go catch up to the heathens."

"At least let him walk."

"His legs-"

"He can walk. He just _wants_ to be held."

Derek came out, smiling brilliantly at them. He reached out for Henry. "If you need somebody to look after him, Meredith is experiencing slightly-empty-nest syndrome."

Cristina nodded. "Have at him."

She followed Derek through the crowd, breaking off from him, and from Owen, to do a little patrolling. It was a chaotic party, so Collin kept his face buried in her shoulder, and gave meek huffs to anyone who tried to talk to him. Cristina was content to drift around.

Zola was turning eight. She was all dressed up in a butterfly costume, complete with wings, and Bailey and Sophia were running laps around the party with her. Following them on stumpy legs, the notorious four hunted as a pack, stealing cupcakes and plotting world domination. Cristina sat with Arizona for a little while, enjoying the warmth of one of the little fires, and watching Manny scoot across a blanket on his bottom. Arizona put her fingers under his armpits and brought him to his feet over and over, but he had trouble balancing. She was joined by April, who let her ridiculously adorable spawn, Jack, hobble around and babble to himself.

She left them, and hovered around Meredith for a while, glad Henry was having a good day, and admiring the way she rocked him.

"Cristina!"

Alex and Jo had arrived. She pried Collin off her chest and set him on the picnic table behind her, standing nearby so he had little room to complain.

Her heart fluttered at the tiny bundle they brought with them.

"Dibs," Cristina said, shutting Meredith down when she got her hands on the baby. She took her delicately from Alex, cradling her in both arms.

Her name was Sara, and she had been born just a week ago. She was wearing little baby thermals, a cap, earmuffs, and she was wrapped in a wool blanket, as warm as she could be. She looked just like her father, which had amused Cristina to no end on the day she was born, and it still made her smile. Her eyes opened occasionally, getting a peak at everything, but she preferred to lie silent and still, sleeping, doing the newborn thing.

Cristina had not, at first, thought she would react so strongly to the kid being born, but she was so proud of Alex all the sudden. It was mysterious, and welcome. She loved him, and he had just taken a huge step in life – and he looked absolutely ecstatic about it.

When she had to hand the baby over to Meredith, she scooped Collin back up, joining in a conversation about the hassles of having a newborn, and giving Alex a few nudges. Eventually she strapped Henry into his carrier and found an isolated picnic table with a heater set up in front of it. She set Henry on top, a respectable distance from the heater, and sat beside him.

"I wish you would play with the other kids," Cristina said to Collin, stroking her fingers through his curls. He watched her silently, wearing the same gorgeous blue eyes as the mother he had lost. "I wish you would talk to me. You're such a good talker."

She looked at her littlest trooper, and smiled.

"And you, I wish you would sleep that good at night."

Henry was getting better every day. He was having less seizures, and he was working on establishing his day-night cycle. Derek was keeping a close watch on his brain and assured her that his deficits were limited to his vision. One day he would be able to talk, and walk, and tackle life, despite his rough start.

His brother was going in the opposite direction.

Collin was shifting from liveliness to withdrawal. He threw tantrums when he was forced to part with Cristina, and shut down, sometimes for days, and refused to eat. He stopped playing with the other kids and displayed classic signs of detachment toward any adults outside his immediate circle – he even turned away from Owen sometimes. Owen insisted she take him somewhere, let someone throw a label on him, but Cristina held out hope that it was just a stage.

Her immediate problems did not end with Collin. Across the party, with his hands in his jacket, having an enthusiastic conversation with Derek Shepherd, was the current bane of her existence.

Adham Farrah.

His eyes trailed constantly back to her and Henry, pinpointing them out of the crowd every time. So far she had avoided letting the two of them near each other, and she had avoided the hell out of Adham at the hospital. She kept his identity secret from Owen, not wishing to jeopardize their working relationship, and she had this bad feeling it would crush him. He knew she cheated, he knew Henry wasn't his, but knowing that Adham was his father was taking it a step too far.

Cristina tried to shake those ideas away, looking away from Adham, to the collection of family and friends at the party. She wondered how their lives would go.

Wyatt was there, bonding with the other interns, invited out of some obligation Meredith had to be inclusive. Cristina barely knew him, barely recognized him. She hoped his career would not be as rocky as hers. And then there was Alex and Jo, standing apart, already arguing about something in hushed tones. And Arizona and Callie, tending to their severely crippled, adopted son. She wondered if Sophia ever felt left out, because of how time-consuming Manny was. She saw the twins and pictured them as little kids, and then as young adults, and her heart clenched.

When she came full circle, all the way back to herself, the plan was already nailed down.

She was going to claw her way back to the top of cardio, maybe start a clinical trial, probably win a few prestigious awards. She was going to whip her interns into shape and mold the next generation of surgeons, and then send them off into the world, to be successes.

Thinking about it made her smile.

Collin put his hand on her cheek, curious about the expression.

"You don't have to say anything." Cristina cradled him, like she had when he was little, when he could barely fill one arm. He was almost four now, long and lanky, and honestly, unquestionably, her favorite person in the whole world. "From now on, things are gonna be different for you and me. There's a new year rolling in soon, and we're gonna kick some ass. You're gonna start _kindergarten_. Mommy is gonna go back to being a cardio god."

Collin watched her, giving a little smile at her tone, and saying nothing. He wrapped his arms around her neck and held on tightly.

Cristina fit her hand over his back, and laughed, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, buddy. I don't know what I would do without you." She kissed the side of his head. "From now on I'll always be here for you." She reached over, running her hand over Henry's mitten. "You too, squirt. And the little demons."

A voice came from behind her.

"What about me?"

Cristina looked back, smiling at Owen. "What makes you so special?"

He laughed, coming to sit beside her on the picnic table. He put and arm around her shoulder, and looked out at the party, his eyes tracing little feet that dashed around the bouncy house. It was like he has a sixth sense for where the twins were.

Cristina rested her head on his shoulder, looking out at the party, instead of at his face. She could never say things like this to his face, only to his heart.

"I'll never leave you again, either. And I don't know what I would do without you."

"That's more like it." He kissed the top of her head, and then Collin's.

"You're so full of yourself."

"What else would I be full of?"

"Crap."

He grinned. "That wasn't very nice."

"I'm not a nice person."

"Where's your Hanukkah spirit?"

Cristina had something snarky to say, but when she looked at him and saw that beautiful, peaceful smile on his face, that silly expression that had haunted her dreams for a decade now, she lost it.

It was Owen, after all. It was this man, stubborn and loyal, with the same eyes as their daughter, and the same sweet smile as their son. He was a decade older than the first time she met him, and through the years he remained her constant. He was precious to her, and with all these thoughts about the future, and what she wanted for her life, his face rested at the center.

So, when she opened her mouth, she said, "I love you."

And he responded, as always, "I love you, too."

**The End.**

**XxX**

**A/N: Here we are, at the end of the story I first published on the 5****th**** of April, 2015, about eighteen months ago. I actually started writing it months before then, when I got into Grey's Anatomy for the first time, and kept dozens of chapters unpublished, until I had the substance I wanted. We have had our ups and downs on this journey, from the very first chapter to now, at a whopping 130. I thought about throwing this project away so many times, but you guys kept me going. It was your support and enthusiasm that kept me writing, and your suggestions and observations that molded this story into what it is now. I appreciate every review, and take to heart the things you say. Thank you for staying with me all this time and even if you started somewhere in the middle, or came in at the end here, that thank you still applies.**

**With that said, I have an announcement. This story will go on. We will pick it up where we left off in part two, which will be entitled, "The Weight of Us." I'm not yet sure when I will be posting it, but if it's not within the next few months, say by February (2017), you have permission to start harassing me in messages. Just tell me to stop being lazy.**

**Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far, and if you want to suggest storylines or anything for the next story, please leave me a review or send me a message. It's story is still being molded. I love you guys, and you'll hear from me again soon!**

**-Jenthewarrior**


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